


The Internship

by nicky_writes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dark, Dark!Steve, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Professor - Freeform, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Stalking, dub-con, professor!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicky_writes/pseuds/nicky_writes
Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader, stucky/reader - Relationship
Comments: 110
Kudos: 418





	1. Chapter One

You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

And then the Battle of New York had happened.

You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life. 

You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. _American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers._

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

And now you were about to walk into his class.

Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you _had_ arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

“Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

“U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

_He’s just a person,_ you lectured yourself internally. _A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s-_

 _  
_ “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

“Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

“You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

“Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

“Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have _as long as_ they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

“Any questions?”

There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

“Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

“That is a _great_ example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably _had_ done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, _so goddamn hard_ , to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim _you_.

The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face. 

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink.

  
“So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve _talked_ about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but _singing_ ; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

“This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

“(Y/N), is that you?”

…Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

“Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

“Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

“The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

“Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

“It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

“Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

“Thanks, doll.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

“N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

“I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

“Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

“Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

“No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

“Steve?”

He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

“It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

“Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

“I’m just joking,” you assured him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

“You ok over there, doll?”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

“Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

“Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

“Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

“Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

“No problem, hon.”

You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt _safer_ in his presence.

When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

“Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

“Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

“Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

“Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

“So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

“For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I _can_ say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

“If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

“…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, some _one_.

Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very _heavy_ bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

“Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am _so_ sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

“Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

“Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

“A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

“It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

“It would give _way_ too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.” 

Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

“Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

“Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it _really_ made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

“Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

“…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

“Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

“I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

______

You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word. 

When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking _winked_ , at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

“I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

_Dear (Y/N),_

_Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve Rogers_

You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

“…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

“I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

“How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

“I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

“U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

“It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

“It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

“So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

“Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

“Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

“Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

“A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

“That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

“I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

“Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

“Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

“No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

“Whatya say?”

You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

“I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

“It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

“I’ll do it.”

_______

Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Y'all better read those tags again, because this is the chapter where the fun really begins... ;) Let me know what you think!!!

You let out a curse as your hand fumbled around inside of your purse; you professor would be there any second to pick you up, and your phone was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn that you’d set it down on your nightstand to charge, but it hadn’t been there that morning, and after spending the better part of an hour looking for it, you were beginning to give up hope.

A knock sounded at your door and you swore again, finally setting your purse down next to your packed suitcase and hurrying to answer it. On its other side stood Steve, a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He was dressed much more casually than you’d ever seen him before, wearing a pair of dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket.

Staring between him and the bundle of daisies, you blinked once, twice before finally finding your voice again.

“Steve! I… Are those for me?” you asked, and he let out a soft laugh.

“Nah, they’re for the other girl who lives here,” he joked.

“I’m sure she’s very grateful,” you managed, taking the bouquet from him and giving it a sniff. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well,” he began, following you into your apartment as you went to locate a vase, “I know that you had your reservations about joining me, and I wanted to get you a little something for agreeing to the internship.”

“Oh.” You finally found an old pitcher that you’d never before used and started filling it with water, watching Steve out of the corner of your eye. He seemed right at home, browsing your book collection with his hands in his pockets as he skimmed the titles. “Well thank you! They’re beautiful.”

After setting the daisies into the water, you turned to face your professor.

“So… Are you ready to head out?” you asked, and he quickly turned his attention back to you.

“Sure am.”

Before you could protest, he walked over to your suitcase and picked it up, not even batting an eye at how heavy it was. You scurried over to pick your purse up and follow him out of your apartment.

“I might need to stop at a Best Buy on the way,” you told him as you locked the door. “I can’t seem to find my phone…”

“You can’t go without it for a week?”

“I mean… I can, but I would rather not have to,” you explained. “My mom might start to worry if I don’t keep in touch.”

“Well how about you use my phone? I would hate for your family to be concerned.”

You followed him to his car, surprised at how sleek and modern it looked; it had to be worth more than a couple years of your rent.

“Are you sure? It won’t be too much of a bother?” you asked, moving to open the passenger door. Steve’s hand shot out faster than yours, though, opening it for you with a smile.

“It would be no trouble at all, (Y/N),” he assured you.

With a quiet “thank you”, you slid into your seat, flinching when Steve closed the door behind you. As you sank into the dark leather beneath you, you wondered if it was too late to turn back. You couldn’t get that meeting in his office out of your head; the way his voice had hardened, the way his face had turned stormy when you hadn’t thanked him initially, it still sent shivers down your spine. Steve had spent years as America’s ‘golden boy’, but you couldn’t shake the suspicion that there could be a darker side of him just beneath the surface.

You jolted in your seat when you heard his door open, and you watched as he climbed into the driver’s side, his weight making the car shift as he settled in.

After flashing a small smile your way, he pressed a button and the car started, its engine purring quietly. You were both silent as you made your way to the interstate, your apartment fading into the distance in the rear-view mirror. It was only after the car was on the highway that Steve glanced your way again.

“You can put on the radio, if you’d like. We have a good hour of driving ahead of us, and that’s if traffic isn’t too crazy.”

You sighed; traffic in the city was always crazy.

You fiddled with the radio, eventually finding a station that you liked and turning it down to a low volume, just wanting some background noise.

“Hey, I actually know this song,” Steve smiled. “Doesn’t happen too often these days; most of the music I listen to is on the records I have at home.”

You smiled a little at that; some of the things he said really made him sound like a grandpa.

“I like the oldies, too,” you told him, head turning to look out your window. “Do you have a favorite band?”

Steve thought about it for a second, his thumbs tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“Well… You’ve probably never heard of them, but I really liked The Ink Spots back in the day. Oh, and Frank Sinatra is pretty hard to beat.”

“I happen to enjoy Sinatra myself,” you said. “I don’t know a lot of his music by name, but he has a really distinct voice.”

“That’s true,” Steve smiled. “…You know, you have a really distinct voice, too.”

Well, that came out of nowhere. You chuckled a little, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“I…don’t think so,” you tried to dismiss him.

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I really like your speaking voice; I imagine you’re a nice singer, too.”

“You are… _so_ wrong,” you informed him. “My singing voice sounds like a cat being boiled.”

He threw his head back, his shoulders shaking with the force of his laugh.

“And just how do you know what that sounds like?” he asked you, glancing away from the road to raise an eyebrow at you.

You just shrugged, your smile fading slowly as you looked down at your lap.

“Why do you do that?” you heard yourself saying.

“Do what?”

“Compliment me so much,” you clarified, not daring to look his way. “You always have something nice to say about me. Why?”

It took Steve a few moments to answer, evidently pondering over his words.

“Well,” he finally said, “I suppose I’m just used to saying what’s on my mind. Everything I’ve told you has been true, you know.”

You felt something in your chest flutter, and you chewed on your lip as you cranked the radio louder. It wasn’t necessarily the words he’d spoken just now that unsettled you; no, it was the way he’d said them: softly, earnestly, in a tone that you don’t just use with a student or a friend. You tried to push that thought away, tried to write it off as ridiculous; he was _Captain America_. Why and how would he ever develop feelings for someone like you?

The majority of the car ride passed in silence, and you watched the sun sink lower into the sky. He’d picked you up in the middle of the afternoon, and as the winter dragged on, the days were getting shorter and shorter. So when you finally made it into Brooklyn, the sky was awash in light pinks and oranges; the sun would be going down in about two hours.

“So, I was thinking,” Steve finally spoke up, setting his right hand on the gear shift, “that we could stop for an early dinner before heading to our hotel room. I know a great pizza place close by.”

His pinky was just barely resting against your thigh as he spoke, and even that tiny point of contact was enough to make you uncomfortable. You pressed your thighs together, putting some distance between your leg and his hand, and you thought that you saw his jaw clench at the motion.

“U-um,” you finally spoke up, realizing he was still waiting for an answer, “yeah, that sounds good. I could go for some pizza.”

With a nod of his head, he turned his turn signal on, turning down the next road. In no time, he’d parked the car in a parking garage and led you out onto a street. When you reached a brick building with a sign that said _Lucali_ on it, he held open the door for you, waving you in before him.

The smell of Italian food immediately washed over you, and you almost let out a moan as you deeply inhaled. A young, sweet-looking hostess walked to the two of you instantly, doing a double take when she saw the man you were with.

Grabbing a few menus, she, for her credit, quickly got over her moment of being star-struck.

“Good evening; table for two?”

“That’d be great,” Steve said, giving her one of his trademark smiles. “We would like one in the back, if any are available.”

“O-of course, Mr. Rogers,” she assured him, leading you both into a more secluded area. Jazz music was playing over the sound system, and as you sank into the booth you were led to, you noticed that every table had a small succulent on its surface.

“Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” the nice girl asked, and you were about to say that you’d just take water when Steve interrupted you.

“We’ll have a bottle of the house red blend,” he told her.

“Oh, no,” you tried to say, “I don’t really want any wine-“

The look Steve gave you stopped you dead in your tracks, and you were quickly taking back your words for a reason you couldn’t quite name.

“U-um, that is, could I have a water with that?” you corrected yourself. Steve smirked, never taking his eyes off of you as the hostess hurried away.

You squirmed in your chair, not daring to make eye contact with the man in front of you until he spoke your name softly.

“Um… Yes?”

“You know, I’d really like it if you were able to relax,” he said softly. “Sip some wine with me; try not to be so tense. Let yourself enjoy the evening.”

Before you could reply, the hostess was back with your drinks, and you immediately chugged half of the glass of wine she’d poured for you – you would welcome anything that could take the edge off, at this point.

“So,” Steve said, not touching his own glass, “I have a whole itinerary planned out for tomorrow. I thought we could start out by going to the building I grew up in; I was sure that they’d have tore it down by now, but apparently it’s still an apartment complex.”

“We could even take some pictures,” you added, finishing off your glass. “They might be a nice inclusion to the chapter.”

“That’s a great idea,” he smiled. “So, we’ll check it out and take some photos, and then we’ll go to Coney Island; Bucky and I used to go there all the time. Once, he made me ride this rollercoaster there until I got sick.” Steve laughed fondly at the memory. “But I got him back the next time and made him go on the tilt-a-whirl until he passed out.”

You chuckled, feeling the wine start to tingle pleasantly through your veins.

“Bucky? That was your best friend, right? The…the winter soldier?”

Steve’s smile grew sad at the mention of that title, but he nodded his head, reaching over to your glass of water and taking a sip casually. If it weren’t for the wine, you were sure you’d have found that odd, but you didn’t even think twice about it.

“He doesn’t like to be called that anymore,” he corrected you. “But he was known by that name once.”

You were both silent as he poured you another glass, and you mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before promptly sipping on it. The air between you felt awkward all of a sudden, and you regretted bringing up the tender subject.

“So,” you spoke up, “what else is on your itinerary?”

“Well…” Steve perked up, “I thought that we could head over to Central Park after Coney Island; it’s all the way in Manhattan, but I used to go there and draw when I was a kid.”

“You like to draw?”

“I sure do. It’s one of the things that I’ve been good at since before the serum.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you assured him.

“Oh, believe me, it is,” he grinned, and there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “Other than getting in way over my head. I’ve always done that, too.”

When the waitress came by your table, Steve ordered for the both of you, but you didn’t mind; he happened to order your favorite type of pizza, and you smiled at the coincidence. The wine was starting to make your head buzz, but you welcomed it over the constant anxiety you seemed to be facing these days.

Your pizza came out surprisingly quick, right in the middle of a story you were telling Steve about your childhood. He was watching you so intently, his chin resting on his palm and his eyes sparkling with amusement. First one, then two more glasses of wine had been drunk (by only one of the people at your table), and when the bottle went empty he slid his still-full glass over for you to finish.

The both of you were completely silent as you ate the pizza; it seemed that you both were hungry. You ate your fill before sitting back and watching Steve ate the majority of the meal as you sipped your wine; you’d never seen anybody eat that much pizza in one setting, but then again, you’d never dined with a super soldier before.

The sun outside had completely disappeared by the time the two of you were finished, an entire bottle of wine sloshing in your belly as you stumbled out of the restaurant.

“Woah there,” Steve chuckled, holding his arm out for you to support yourself on. “You ok?”

“’M great,” you waved him off. “Just drank a little more than I was expecting to. You should’a stopped me at my second glass.”

All Steve replied with was a deep chuckle, leading you back to the car and helping you into your seat. You blushed as he buckled your seatbelt for you, feeling like a child.

“I can do it myself,” you tried to protest, but he batted your hands away when you reached for him.

“I know you can. But I want to help you.”

You huffed but made no attempt to further protest, settling in against the cushy seat as he started to drive you to the hotel. Your eyelids were slowly starting to feel heavier, and you jolted when you suddenly felt a hand descend on your shoulder.

“Hey, doll,” Steve was saying, “We’re here. Wake up.”

You blinked sluggishly; you hadn’t meant to drift off. Letting out a soft grunt, you opened your door and stood up on stiff legs. Your teacher smiled over at you as he unloaded your suitcases, handling all of the bags as he led you out of the parking garage and into one of the fanciest hotel lobbies you’d ever seen.

Your shoes clicked against the marble flooring as you walked with Steve to the receptionist’s desk. The man behind the counter gave your professor a wide smile, not even sparing you a glance as he greeted the soldier.

“Welcome, Mr. Rogers,” he grinned. “We are honored to have you staying with us, sir.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “We have a reservation under-“

“Rogers, yes. We have your room all set up.” The man handed Steve a keycard, and you wondered if he would start vibrating with how excited he was at having such a famous guest. “Please, do let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant.”

“I sure will; have a good evening.”

With that, Steve gestured for you to walk into the nearby elevator before him, pressing the button for the 11th floor.

“I was wondering if that guy was gonna kiss you,” you joked, and he threw his head back as he laughed.

“I…am very glad he didn’t,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t wanna make you jealous.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, the elevator dinged open and Steve was making a beeline down the hallway. You rushed to follow him to a door marked “1110”, and the first thought you had after he unlocked the door and led you inside was… _there’s only one bed_. The room was gorgeous, of course. Soft carpet flooring, white linens, dark wood furniture, and you passed a spacious, luxurious bathroom as you stepped further into the room.

“Um… Steve?”

He turned to you as he set your bags on the dresser, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“There, um… There’s only one bed.”

“Oh,” he said, looking around at the bed as if only just then noticing it, “Yeah. All of the rooms with two were taken.”

“…Um… Alright, then,” you said, starting to sober up from the wine.

Walking over to the bed, you pulled off one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor, gripping the comforter and moving to pull it off of the mattress.

“What are you doing?”

You met Steve’s eyes, halting in your movements.

“I’m making myself a bed on the floor.” 

“The floor?”

You nodded, wondering why it was so surprising.

“Yeah, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” you said. “You paid for the room, so you deserve the bed.”

“…Why don’t we just share it?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his question, feeling like a deer in headlights as he stared at you.

“U-um, well… It’s just that you, um… you’re my teacher,” you explained, feeling dumb as you said so. “Wouldn’t that be…inappropriate?”

“Oh, c’mon, doll,” Steve sighed, setting his hands on his hips. “We’re both adults. You don’t need to be so immature about this.”

Your eyes were round, and your mouth hung open, not knowing what to say to that. Your chest tightened at the feeling of disappointment, for some reason feeling sick at the thought of Steve thinking of you as ‘immature’.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stuttered, voice small. “I’m just…going to put my pajamas on.”

You opened your suitcase hurriedly and snatched the first tank top and pajama pants you saw before rushing into the bathroom, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You took your time dressing, not wanting to venture back out into the bedroom to face him again; why did he bother you so much? Why did you care about what he thought?

Letting out a deep sigh, you looked at yourself in the mirror, heart sinking when you saw your shirt. Or, rather, what was showing straight through your shirt. Your nipples were clearly visible through the thin material of your white tank top, and for a second you pondered putting on your bra again. But it was stark black, sure to show through even more blatantly than your nipples.

Staring up at the ceiling, you briefly wondered if there was some higher power out there who just liked watching you squirm, scattering awkward, embarrassing moments throughout your life like a child throwing confetti.

_Whatever_ , you decided, gathering up your dirty clothes and holding them against your chest. Steve thought you were immature, anyways. He probably wouldn’t spare your nipples a second glance, right?

…Right?

Summoning your courage, you opened the door and walked out, not once glancing over at your teacher as you headed to your suitcase. Not even when you heard him sigh and sit up straighter on the bed.

“Doll, I didn’t mean to be mean earlier,” he was saying as you shoved the bundle in your hands into the bag. “You’re very mature for your age, and I-“

You turned around, mouth open to speak, but you stopped when Steve’s words were cut off by a deep inhale. You glanced up shyly, just in time to see his eyes fly up from your chest to your face, his eyes a bit wide as he tried to keep his gaze fixed on yours.

For the first time since walking back into the bedroom, you realized that he was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, his muscles on full display as he lounged against the headboard. You hoped he didn’t see how your thighs clenched together at the sight, but his eyes caught every movement you made as you stood before him.

“I…” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry for calling you immature earlier.”

You nodded, tearing your eyes away from his pectorals as you padded over to your side of the bed. Not daring to make any eye contact, you lifted the sheets, snuggling down into them and turning onto your side. You were faced away from him as you spoke next.

“It’s ok,” you said. “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Alright, doll,” Steve murmured. “Goodnight.”

A few moments later, you felt his weight leave the bed as he got up to turn off all the lights. Once the room was completely dark, you felt the bed dip again, and you curled up into a ball to try and take up as little space as possible.

For a long while, you could only hear your own breathing, and one by one your muscles were beginning to relax. Just as you were on the edge of sleep, though, you heard sheets sliding against skin, and then a pair of impossibly strong arms were wrapping themselves around you.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second you froze. Your heart was pounding, and you felt Steve’s hot breath against the back of your neck. Wondering if he was just latching onto you in his sleep, you tried scooting away, wriggling in his iron-like grip. But despite your best efforts, he wouldn’t budge.

“Steve,” you whispered, “can you-“

“Stop,” he murmured, his nose nuzzling into the side of your neck. “Just be still.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt a rising tide of panic swell in your chest. Once more, you tried to distance yourself from him, reaching back behind you to try and push against his chest, but he only tightened his grip on you, squeezing you until it was beginning to grow harder to breathe.

“Stay. Still,” he growled, giving you one hard shake.

You whimpered at his tone, too shocked to say anything else. Limply, you let your hands fall back to your side, feeling the fight leave your body like water going down a drain.

“Good girl.”

Letting out shaky breaths, you forced your eyes to close and willed your breathing to slow down. Despite your discomfort, your exhaustion was getting the best of you, and your eyelids were once more growing heavy. Sleep was beginning to overtake you, and in the last moments before it completely won you over, you realized how warm Steve was, how nice it felt to be in someone’s arms. In any other situation, you could see yourself enjoying this.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were trapped, and as nice as your body felt, your mind was at war with itself as you finally succumbed to sleep.

­­­­­­­­__________

You woke up impossibly warm. There was a comforting weight on top of you, and the pillow beneath your head was so soft, providing just the right amount of support. It was so unlike your own bed back home, filled with lumps and-

Your breath caught in your throat as the events of the night before came flooding back to you. Your eyes flew open, falling to the blonde head currently resting against your chest – Steve. He seemed to be asleep, his arm wrapped around your stomach and his lips slightly parted. From this angle you could see how long his eyelashes were, and for a brief moment you felt a flutter of jealousy.

But that feeling soon left when he took in a deep breath through his nose, his spine stretching and his arm flexing against you. You felt his thumb lazily trace circles against your side as he let out a yawn.

“Good morning,” he sighed, eyes still closed.

You gulped, feeling that familiar spike of fear inside you.

“Good m-morning,” you whispered back. You made to swing your legs over the side of the bed, but his arm only tightened in its grip.

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked up at you.

“Where are you going,” he asked, voice suddenly devoid of all sleepiness.

“Just to the bathroom,” you murmured, and thankfully, he let you go, rolling onto his back to allow you to stand up.

You felt his eyes on you the entire time it took for you to cross the room, and you let out a sigh of relief once there was a door separating you. A door which, you knew, he could easily put his fist through if he wanted; you’d always been aware of his strength, but it hadn’t seemed real to you until you’d felt his arms caging you in against him.

As you went about your business, you belatedly came to the realization that there was no explaining his actions anymore. You could no longer shake away the feelings of unease Steve arose within you; you could no longer call yourself ridiculous for not feeling safe with Captain America, of all people. As you washed your face and considered your countenance in the mirror, you felt your world came to a screeching halt as you accepted the fact that had been right in front of you the entire time.

Steve wanted you.

After gathering up your courage, you stepped out of the bathroom to find Steve already up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. He gave you a soft smile when your eyes met, but now you could see the steel behind it.

“I figured we could just eat breakfast here,” he told you, using such a nonchalant tone that for a second you forgot entirely about last night. “They have a buffet downstairs. After that we can head to my old stompin’ grounds and take some pictures.”

“Th-that sounds good,” you assured him, cautiously walking over to your suitcase. “Is it ok if I take a shower first?”

“Of course it is. You want me to get out of your hair, leave you with the room to yourself? You can just come downstairs and meet me in the dining hall when you’re all set.”

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise. “Um, yeah, that would be great.”

Steve gave you another warm little smile, setting his hand on your shoulder as he walked past you.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

You watched him leave, waiting to hear the door click completely shut before grabbing everything you needed from your suitcase and heading back into the bathroom. You took your time in the shower, wondering what exactly you should do about all of this. You couldn’t spend an entire week with Steve, not if he continued acting so…weird around you.

As you applied your makeup and dried your hair, you reasoned that, yes, Steve definitely had…some kind of feelings for you. Maybe it was a crush; maybe it was something more. Or maybe he just wanted to get in your pants. Either way, you had to tell him that his feelings weren’t returned, that you wanted to end the trip early. He could find another intern to finish out the week.

For now, you decided, you would do what he wanted for today; you would go with him to his old house and take notes; you would go to Coney Island with him. But as soon as he mentioned going back to the hotel, you would lay it all out for him and get an Uber back to your apartment.

Feeling determined, you grabbed your purse and headed down to the ground floor, almost getting lost in the vast hotel several times before you were able to locate the dining hall. Upon entering the large room, you saw Steve sitting at a table, tapping away at his phone with an already-empty plate. When he looked up at saw you, though, he hurriedly shoved the phone into his pocket and gave you a smile.

“You look great,” he said as you passed him on the way to the buffet.

All you could manage was a weak smile for him as you went about assembling a plate for yourself, even though you really didn’t have an appetite. You settled on some fruit salad and a muffin, grabbing a cup of orange juice as you went back to the table.

“That’s all you’re gonna eat?” Steve asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. You put on a false smile and nodded as you picked at your food.

“I’m not really hungry this morning.”

He didn’t offer any protest as you ate, and as soon as you were done he ushered you out into the parking garage. The car ride to his old home was mostly silent, leaving you to watch the streets of Brooklyn go by.

“This town has really changed,” Steve eventually sighed. “It’s always weird coming back here.”

You were quiet for a few moments, thinking about what to say. He’d sounded strangely…sad.

“You don’t think it’s changed for the best?” you finally spoke.

“Well… I dunno. Yes and no, I think. Because modern technology is great; there’s no disputing the accomplishments we’ve made with it. But this city used to be…smaller. And not just in size; it used to be that each street had its own flavor, its own feel to it. Now, everything is so commercialized that it doesn’t even seem real anymore.”

“…I’m sorry, Steve,” you muttered, feeling genuine sympathy for him despite how he’d made you feel. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

Steve nodded, parallel parking the car onto the side of the road.

“I wouldn’t want you to, doll. The things I’ve seen sure can change a person.”

With that, he hopped out of the car, jogging around to open your door for you. As you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you saw a three-story brick building right in front of you. The first floor was dedicated to a Chinese restaurant and, beside it, a used bookstore, but it appeared that the top two floors were used for housing.

“That window,” Steve said, leaning closer to point it out to you, “used to be in my bedroom. And the downstairs was a clothing store back then. My mom was a tailor there when I was little, before she became a nurse.”

He led you around the building into an alleyway, a melancholy smile on his face. The alley was not unlike any other you’d seen; trash was strewn about and trashcans were lined up against the far wall. You heard music drifting out of an open window somewhere above you, though, and some of the windows had flower boxes with overflowing ivy inside of them. Steve paused at the foot of an old stairway made of iron, resting one of his feet on the bottom step and rubbing his hand up and down its rail.

“I used to climb these stairs every day,” he said wistfully. “And me and Bucky would play in the alleyway; I could always beat him at jacks.”

You gave him a small smile, walking closer to him.

“Can I borrow your phone?” you asked. “For the pictures.”

“Oh, right.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a StarkPhone, handing it to you. He made to walk away from the steps, but you held one of your hands out.

“No, stay there,” you instructed. “Look up at your old apartment, and uh…act natural.”

He chuckled, moving back to his position next to the stairwell.

“Whatever you say, Miss Photographer.”

You snapped a few photos from different angles, liking especially one where he had his back to the camera, his profile visible as he looked up at his old front door. You quickly set a black-and-white filter over it before handing him back the device.

“I think those all look good,” you said. “Tell me what you think.”

Steve flipped through the photos, lingering on the one you’d made black and white.

“These are great,” he praised you. “But they’d look much better with you in them with me.”

He gave you a wink as he tucked the phone back into his pocket, gesturing for you to follow him back to the car before you had the chance to say anything more.

“C’mon, it’s been decades since I’ve gone to Coney Island. I wanna see how different it is these days.”

The rest of the day was strangely…pleasant, in spite of being with a man you knew to have some kind of strange fascination with you. Going to Coney Island with Steve kind of made you feel like a kid again. He wouldn’t go on any of the rides, but he did play some of the carnival games with you. It was his idea.

“C’mon, we can’t come here and not have at least a _little_ bit of fun,” he’d cajoled. You’d given in, following him to the ring toss stall.

After that, you began to loosen up a little bit. The games were fun, despite how rigged they clearly were. Steve, though, was unsurprisingly amazing at them; he’d even broken the Strong Man game. When he’d brought the hammer down onto the button, not only did the bell ring, but it cracked in half. He’d grinned and picked a huge teddy bear off of the rack, handing it to you proudly, and you hadn’t been able to do anything but laugh and accept it with a smile.

After stopping to get a hot dog (or three hot dogs for Steve), you’d piled back into his car, barely able to fit the bear into the backseat. On the ride to Central Park, you skimmed through Steve’s phone, picking out your favorite of the photos you’d taken at the amusement park. You laughed and showed him the one you’d taken just after he broke the game; in the picture his eyes were wide as he looked back at you sheepishly.

When you got to the park and managed to find a parking space close by, you sensed a distinct shift in Steve’s mood. As you got out and let him guide you to the spot in the park he used to visit as a child, you felt his eyes on you constantly, and your small talk puttered out into dead silence. You felt the back of your neck prickle with discomfort as you noticed the path you were walking on becoming less and less crowded, leaving you alone with the super soldier.

You had the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Eventually, the two of you came to a shady part of the path where the tree branches hung low, shielding the asphalt underfoot from sunlight. There was a small, old-looking bridge in front of you, and Steve paused when the two of you were standing overtop of it.

“Why are we stopping?” you asked, turning to him. “Is this the place?”

Steve didn’t answer, looking down at his hands where they rested against the bridge. You felt that familiar sense of anxiety rising up inside of you, and you fidgeted as you watched him carefully.

“You know, I’ve thought about this moment for a while, now,” he finally said, “But hell, I’m still nervous.” He gave you a sheepish smile, but it did nothing to make you feel better. “I guess you just have that effect on me.”

You gulped, clenching your fists at your sides.

“Steve, what…what are you talking about?”

“I think you know, doll.” He stepped closer to you, his chest almost touching yours. “I think you’ve known for a while.

“You must know that I’m crazy about you by now.”

You looked down, not able to meet his eyes, but his hand went under your chin and guided your face back up towards him.

“Hey, look at me, baby. I-“

“No, please don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Steve, we can’t-“

“I _love_ you.”

Your heart sank upon hearing those words, and despite how he’d treated you up to this point, it broke your heart to see how hopeful his expression was.

“Steve, I…” You paused, and he eagerly nodded, hoping to hear something you knew you couldn’t say. “We can’t do this. You’re my _teacher_ , and I’m your _student_. We could both get in huge trouble.”

You watched the hopeful glimmer in his eyes fade away, replaced with disappointment as his face fell.

“But…what if you weren’t my student?” he suddenly asked.

You scrunched up your eyebrows questioningly.

“What do you mean?”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to go to school anymore,” he told you in a pleading voice. “I…I could take care of you. You could do your writing from home, and I could provide for us and our family. I know that you have your own plans, but now you don’t have to-“

“Our family? Steve, I’m so… I’m confused. You expect me to just quit everything and, what? Be your housewife?”

Steve frowned at your tone, setting a hand on your shoulder. You tried to move it away from him, but his grip was like iron.

“Doll, I know that this is sudden, but I also know that I can make you happy. And you can’t deny that you have the same feelings that I do. I can hear your heart pounding as we speak-“

“That’s because I’m _afraid_ , Steve! I hardly even know you, and the only feelings you’ve given me so far have been fear and discomfort. You can’t just fucking _decide_ that-“

His grip on you tightened, causing you to let out a yelp of pain.

“Watch your language, baby,” he warned you, voice hard as steel. “I won’t have you speaking to me that way. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

“What you’ve _done_ for me?! You haven’t-“

“I changed my whole _life_ for you,” he spat, his face getting closer and closer to yours. “I moved across town into a shitty matchbox apartment just to be closer to you. I got you into my class so we could properly meet one another. I’ve given you my _heart,_ (Y/N), and I’m ready to give you the life you’ve always wanted!”

  
Your head spun with his revelation of just how crazy he was. You wanted to scream in his face; you wanted to tell him just how insane he was. But you knew that wasn’t the smart thing to do in this situation, and if you wanted to make it out of this, you would _have_ to be smart. He was stronger than you, and you were alone with no one else in sight; you couldn’t fight your way out of this.

“S-Steve,” you whispered, forcing yourself to look into his eyes. “Steve, please. I’m sorry for being so…rude. Just… Can we talk about this? Maybe at the hotel? All of this is so sudden, just like you said. I need to think it through.” You silently willed him to believe what you were saying; if you could just make it back to the street you could try and find help.

He seemed to turn over your words, hesitating before finally loosening his grip on you.

“…Okay, doll,” he nodded, taking a step back. “We can talk about this. But you’d better watch the tone you take with me. Now let’s-“

He was cut off by the sound of a ringtone emanating from his back pocket – more specifically, _your_ ringtone. You both froze for a long moment before Steve slowly reached for it, and your blood ran cold when you saw its familiar phone case. It wasn’t the StarkPhone you’d been borrowing from your teacher all day; no, that was _your phone_. The one that you hadn’t been able to find yesterday.

And Steve had it.

“…I’m sorry about that,” he sighed, crushing the device in his palm as if it were made of paper mache. “I know that this looks bad… I was gonna give it back to you after our week together.”

All of your reason went out the window, and on shaky legs you turned and did the only thing your brain could think about in that moment.

You ran.

You could hear Steve’s footfalls behind you, moving impossibly fast, and you let out a scream, making your voice as loud as possible and willing your legs to move faster. Within seconds though, his vice-like arms were around you, one of his massive palms pressing against your mouth and muffling your cries.

“Cut it out _right now_ ,” he demanded. “You know you can’t win this fight.”

You didn’t faulter in your frenzied movements, though, still kicking your legs blindly. It was only until you felt his hand move from your mouth to your throat that you went still, your vision slowly going black at the corners as it became harder to breathe.

You were still trying to scream, though, begging anyone who could possibly hear you for help even as your voice became thin and strained. All too soon, though, you felt something hard hit you in the back of the head, and you felt yourself sinking into unconsciousness.

“Shh, it’s ok,” you thought you heard Steve say. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

And then everything went black.

________

The first thing you became aware of as you woke up was how sore you felt. Your head was pounding, your mouth was dry, and your arms were cramping. With a low moan, you tried to move them, but something around your wrists was stopping you.

“Shhh, doll, you’re ok. I’m so glad you’re waking up.”

Slowly, your eyes opened and you found yourself face to face with Steve. Sucking in a deep breath, you turned and saw your wrists tied to a bedframe with a thin but strong length of rope. Judging by the rope burn on your skin and the soreness in your muscles, you’d been tied up in that position for a while.

“I was so afraid I’d hit you too hard,” Steve was going on, perched right next to your hip on the mattress. “I’m sorry that I had to do that, but to be fair, you weren’t leaving me much of a choice.”

Your eyes widened as you took in the room you were trapped in. The walls and floor were made out of concrete, and there were no windows in sight. There were, however, bookshelves lining an entire wall to your left, and there was a brown leather couch and two matching armchairs placed in front of them. A staircase sat in the corner to your right, and there were two visible doors in the room – one right in front of you and one to the right.

“Doll? You okay there? Your heart is beating faster than a steam engine.”

You turned back to face Steve so quickly that your head spun with the movement.

“S-Steve?” Your voice was brittle, and you just then realized how much your throat hurt.

“Oh, here, hon. Sip some water; it should help your throat feel better.” Steve stood up and retrieved a glass of water from the nightstand before once more taking his place beside you and holding it to your lips. You tried to lift your head up off the pillow as much as possible, but some of it still dribbled down your chin.

After you’d drank your fill, Steve put the glass back on the table and leaned over you, letting one of his hands rest on your hip while the other one wiped away the water you’d spilled.

“There you go. That feel any better?”

You warily nodded, completely unsettled by the pleasant little smile he was wearing on his face.

“Steve,” you tried once again. “Where am I?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb while his other hand drew lazy circles against your hip. “You’re safe.”

You struggled once more against your ties, but all you accomplished was aggravating your already raw skin. Steve sighed and pulled away, standing up and putting his hands on his hips.

“Doll, I’ve already warned you about your attitude,” he chided. “If you calm down, I’ll untie you, but first you’ve gotta settle down and behave. Understood?”

You felt tears spring to your eyes as you realized just how helpless you were in this situation, but you blinked them away as you nodded. You stopped struggling and lay still.

“I-I understand.”

“Good girl. Now, I’ll untie you, but if you try to run or do anything stupid, I won’t hesitate to tie you up again and leave you like that for the next week. Got it?” When you nodded your head, Steve tsked, shaking his head. “You need to do better than that. Say, ‘I promise not to run, Steve.’”

“I-I promise not to run, Steve,” you recited, feeling a tear slide down your cheek.

His face softened at that, and he leaned over you to wipe it away.

“Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe here, remember? The last thing I wanna do is hurt you.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pocketknife, and you winced as he gripped the rope. With quick, deft movements, he severed both chords, and as soon as you were free you scrambled as far away from him on the bed as possible, rubbing the sore skin of your wrists while drawing your knees up to your chin. Steve sighed at your response, but all he did was sit down on the bed again.

“Now, you said you wanted to talk earlier, right? So let’s talk. But this time, watch your tone; you’re already due for a punishment for how you spoke to me earlier.”

You felt yourself blanch at his tone, hugging your knees tighter as you watched him; you didn’t want to talk. You didn’t even know what to say, other than to voice the one question echoing in your mind.

“…Why?” you finally asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, doll,” was his immediate response. “I know that you’re confused. I know that you’re scared, and I can understand that. Love is…scary; it’s terrifying. But I know that if you just give me a chance, you’ll see how happy we can be together.”

You shook your head, trying to trample down the anger you felt welling up inside you; yelling at him would get you nowhere.

“Steve…this isn’t the way to go about this,” you carefully said. “I don’t want a relationship right now. And it’s not about you; I don’t want a relationship with _anybody_ until I’m done with college. Please, just…let me go, and I promise I won’t tell anyone, ok? We can even go on a proper date after I graduate if you still want to. Just please, _please_ , let me go. You don’t want to do this.”

Steve’s lips stretched into a humorless smile, and he let out a cold chuckle.

“I don’t want this, huh? What do you know about what I want? As a matter of fact, what has anyone ever known about what I want? Or what’s more, when have they cared?

“I never wanted to be this,” he growled, gesturing down at his body. “I didn’t want to be some super soldier; I just wanted to serve my country. I never wanted to wake up in a century I didn’t belong in. I didn’t want to fight against an alien army; I didn’t want to watch half of my friends turn to dust; I didn’t want to see the first woman I ever loved slowly die of an old age I never got to reach.

“But I did it. I did all of that, and now? I’m tired of doing shit I don’t wanna do just because it’s what’s right. Just this once, I want something for myself. Some _one_ for myself. I want to be happy. And baby, right now, _you’re_ what I need to be happy.

“I’ve given everything away, and now I’m going to collect on what I’ve rightfully fucking earned.”

The entire time he was talking, his gaze had gone darker and darker as his voice rose, and now he stood up, marching to the side of the bed you were resting on and pulling you up with both hands wrapped around your biceps. You felt yourself being lifted completely into the air, but before you could push him away, he was kissing you.

His lips were unforgiving as they moved against yours, his tongue shoving itself inside of your mouth ungracefully. You whimpered, pressing your hands against his chest and wriggling your body in his grip. He made no signs of budging, though, only tightening his grip on you.

Desperate to separate yourself from him, you bit down on his tongue, feeling yourself being suddenly dropped to the hard floor as Steve let out a howl. You thought you saw blood trickle down from his lips as you staggered to your feet, but you tore your eyes away from him and quickly started rushing to the stairs. Taking two steps at a time, you climbed them until you reached the steel door at their top.

With shaky hands, you turned its handle, but it didn’t move so much as an inch. Feeling your heart plummet to your toes, you uselessly flung yourself against it, vaguely aware of your own screaming.

Letting out a sob, you pressed your back against the cold steel, looking down to see Steve wiping a small trail of blood off of his chin. He hadn’t moved from his spot, and in spite of his obvious pain, there was a smirk on his lips. There was no mistaking the anger in his eyes, though.

“Get your ass,” he growled, drawing himself to his full height, “down those fucking stairs.”

Your entire body was trembling as you realized how helpless you were.

“NOW,” Steve suddenly shouted, and you jolted at the sound.

Moving as if in a daze, you descended the stairs, a cold numbness spreading throughout your body as you realized you were well and truly trapped. When you stood in front of Steve once again, you felt his hand grip your chin harshly, yanking your face closer to his.

“That,” he growled, “was a stupid thing to do.”

He suddenly spun you around and pushed you, and you let out a shriek as you landed on the mattress. He didn’t give your body a chance to stop bouncing before he was on you, tearing at your shirt until you felt the material rip.

“I tried to do this the right way,” he was muttering, almost to himself. “I waited for _months_. I watched you; I was nice to you. I had an entire evening planned for you after the park if you’d have just said yes.”

You cried out as he yanked your pants down your legs, and you blindly kicked at him as you sobbed. With harsh, jerky movements, he pushed them apart and settled his hips over yours, settling his weight over you until you were pinned.

“I was gonna be gentle with you,” he continued on, running his hands over your body, squeezing your breasts so hard through your bra that you yelped. “I was going to make your first time so special, baby. But then you had to go and fuck it all up.”

Your body froze for a second, a wave of terror crashing over you at his implications. Steve used your pause as an opportunity to push his jeans down, taking his underwear with them. You tried your best not to look down at his body as he took his shirt off, but you’d still caught a glance at what lay in store for you.

His cock was enormous, bigger than any you’d seen in any porn, and you squeezed your legs together at the thought of it inside your body. It wouldn’t fit; there was no way.

“Please, Steve,” you were babbling, once more trying to push him away. “Please, it’s gonna hurt so bad; please, I don’t want this to be my first time. Steve, I-“

His hand descended down over your mouth, gritting his teeth as his other hand tore off your bra.

“I hope it _does_ hurt, doll,” he growled. “I hope you can’t walk straight for a week. I hope that every time you even _think_ of running away from me again, every time you so much as move your legs, you feel me fucking into your tight, virgin pussy and remember who you belong to.”

Suddenly you were being flipped over onto your stomach, and you gripped the sheets as you felt your panties being torn off. _This was it,_ you thought, and you braced yourself as best you could.

But when your legs weren’t pulled apart, when you didn’t feel his hands against you for a second, your eyes opened once more. You turned your head to look over your shoulder, only to see Steve’s hand as it slapped your ass so hard you swore you saw stars.

You buried your face in the blankets beneath you as he spanked you over and over again, sobbing as the pain radiated throughout your entire body. Every time you tried to crawl away from him, his hands would wrap around your hips and pull you right back to where he wanted your body.

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he growled. “You need to take your God. Damn. Punishment.”

Each word was punctuated with a spank, and you did nothing to stop your screams as you lost count somewhere around 15. You’d had no idea how strong he was before this; you’d thought you’d sensed it when he held you in his arms last night; you’d thought you’d seen it in his bulging muscles. But it was only now, as he was using his strength to hurt you, that you fully understood it.

By the time he stopped, you were laying limp on your stomach, crying into the sheets and trying to think of something, anything other than the pain. But when you felt yourself being maneuvered up onto your knees, you felt your panic only increase.

He gave you no warning before he shoved his cock inside of you, but even if he _had_ said anything, you doubt you would have heard it over your own scream. Your walls were roughly stretched as he entered you, inch by aching inch. Your chest shook with your sobs as they mingled with his moan of pleasure. A part of you wondered how he could be feeling so good while you were in such pain, but all thought left you when he started moving his hips.

You’d always known that your first time would be at least a little painful, but nothing could have prepared you for this. The pain seemed to radiate throughout your entire body, and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to struggle as his thrusts grew more regular in their rhythm.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hands squeezing your hips. “I knew you would feel good, knew this pussy would be so good to me-“

He cut himself off with another moan, shifting his hips so he could fuck deeper into you. You had your eyes squeezed shut the entire time, your nails biting into the skin of your palms as you willed the pain to go away. You tried to relax against him; you even tried to _enjoy_ it, just to ease the pain. You were desperate for it to go away, and your cries only increased when Steve started to move faster.

Whether it was out of pity or just his own sick amusement, he slowed in his rhythm just a bit, snapping his hips almost lazily as one of his hands trailed down your back.

“Oh, I’m sorry baby,” he breathed, dragging his cock up and down your walls, hitting a spot inside of you that made your eyes fly wide open. “I forgot that you like it nice and slow at first, right?”

You whined at his words; the pain was still present, but with him hitting against that spot that made colors dance behind your vision, pleasure was starting to build alongside it. You were somewhat aware that you were babbling, but you couldn’t even make out your own words as he hit that spot repeatedly.

“I used to watch you, you know,” he grunted, reaching around your body to run his finger over your clit. You jolted at the sensation, inadvertently clenching around him. “I would watch you use that little pink toy you kept in your bedside table. I – _fuck_ \- memorized how you made yourself cum, knowing I could make you feel so much better than that tiny piece of plastic ever could.”

As he started thrusting faster once more, his fingers sped up with him, rubbing up and down against your clit until your sobs slowly started transforming into moans.

“See, doll? I fucking knew you would love this,” he said. “Knew you would see how you were made to be mine. I’ll fucking _make_ you see.”

Your eyes rolled as you felt yourself moving closer and closer to the edge, and from the shouts and half-grunted words of praise spilling from Steve’s lips, he was getting close, too. His hips were moving at a brutal pace, but you were starting to crave it even through the dull haze of pain. He was filling you up so well, hitting every corner and ridge inside of your pussy so perfectly, so completely; you did nothing to stop your moans from falling out of your lips, all of your fear and agony fading away until there was nothing but Steve and the pleasure he was bringing you.

“Steve-!” you cried out, your hips moving against his of their own accord. “P-please-“ You weren’t sure if you were begging for him to stop or begging him not to, but as you reached the edge of your climax, you found that you didn’t care.

“I know, baby,” he growled, “I know. I-I… _Fuck!_ ”

Suddenly, his fingers were gone from your clit, and you let out a whine as your orgasm eluded you, slipping away right through your fingers. You felt something warm flood your pussy, though, and you looked over your shoulder to see Steve’s mouth open in a silent scream, pure bliss written across his features as he came inside of your abused pussy.

Your eyes were wide open, silently pleading with him as you squirmed beneath his body, but when he opened his eyes and saw your sad, needy face, all he did was grin.

“I knew you would be perfect, baby,” he panted, slowly pulling his cock out of you with a wince. You ignored the sensation of his cum leaking out of your body, trying to catch your breath between the sobs that were starting to return.

“W-why…” you started to ask, but he just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Be a good girl for me next time, and I’ll let you cum.”

You melted against the mattress and watched him dress with unseeing eyes, the pleasant feelings in your cunt starting to fade while slowly being replaced by a dull, throbbing ache that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

“Now, I’m going to go out and get a few things from the store,” Steve spoke, his voice steady and neutral despite what he’d just done to you. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I want you to think about what you’ve done and have a nice apology waiting for me when I come home, okay?”

When you didn’t respond, he turned to you and raised one threatening eyebrow, not looking away until you’d given him a shaky nod.

“Good girl. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

After pulling his shoes on, he started climbing the stairs, pausing at the top to look back down at you with a deceptively warm, soft smile.

“I love you, doll.”

And with that, he left, leaving you with his cum cooling on your thighs. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! This chapter was a doozy, but y'all....It's gonna get so much worse, trust me.

You lost track of time as you lay there, your body bruised, bloody, and spent. At one point you’d tried to roll over onto your back, but your ass stung so badly at the feel of the sheets against its abused flesh that you gave up on the effort. Your mind was reduced to white noise as it played over, again and again, what had just transpired.

Steve’s moans echoed in your ears, and even when you squeezed your eyes shut, you could still see his face as he came inside of you. Your pussy clenched at the memory and you let out a yelp of pain; you could still feel something trickling out of your used channel, but you knew that it was no longer his cum dripping out of you – it was blood.

The worst feeling, though, was the one of guilt that was rattling in your chest. At one point, you’d…enjoyed it. You’d wanted to find your own release with him, and even though you never achieved it, you still felt fresh tears start to fall as you were overcome with self-hatred.

Time passed by too quickly and too slowly all at once, because before you knew it, the door to your prison was once more being opened. You didn’t move when you heard Steve descending the stairs, but you could hear the rustle of shopping bags over the sound of his whistling. Once he’d set down his purchases, you heard him getting closer to you, but you still refused to so much as look his way when he sat down on the mattress next to you.

“You ok, doll?” His voice was soft, almost uncertain as he spoke to you. When you didn’t reply, he put his hand on your shoulder and turned you onto your side, but even then the only sound you made was a groan of pain.

You could see his face in this new position, and you almost felt angry at the look of concern on his face as his eyes skirted up and down your body.

“…I think I owe you an apology, hon,” he said after a long pause. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you; even if you did deserve your punishment, that was still…well, it was intense for your first time.”

The small rebellious part of you wanted to snort at his words. _Oh, you think? What gave it away, my bleeding ass or my bleeding pussy?_

But you were too scared to voice those thoughts, now that you knew what this man was capable of.

With a sigh, Steve cupped your cheek in one hand, his eyes focused intently on yours.

“Let’s get you a bath, doll,” he murmured.

He stood up and leaned over the bed, maneuvering your body as if it weighed nothing as he picked you up. When his hand grazed your ass, you let out a yelp, clinging to the material of his shirt.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologized, adjusting you to lay more comfortably in his arms. “I know you’re sore; I got something at the store that should help with that.”

You blinked away the tears in your eyes as he started to walk towards the door on the opposite wall of the bed, and once he opened it you saw that it was a bathroom. Your eyes squinted against the glare coming off of the white tile walls and floor. In the corner, there was a large garden tub, and once Steve was standing in front of it, he gingerly set you down onto your feet.

“There you go, baby. You just stand there and wait for the tub to fill up, ok?”

You nodded shakily, keeping a close eye on him as he rolled up the sleeves of his button-up and started the water. You took the time to look around at the rest of your surroundings; next to the tub there was a modern-looking glass shower, and dotted around the room were framed drawings decorating the walls. The one above the toilet, you realized with sickening dread, was of the very bridge in Central Park where Steve had abducted you. Next to the mirror above the sink, there was one of a blue-jay singing as it perched on a branch. And above the bathtub was one of…

Your eyes widened when you realized it was a picture of you. Well, it was of your profile. In the drawing, you were sitting at a table, hunched over a book with your hair up in a messy bun. You gulped, looking between it and the man who was currently picking out a bath bomb from a glass case filled with them on a shelf next to the shower.

As if he felt you looking at him, he glanced at you over his shoulder and smiled when he saw you staring at the drawing.

“Do you like it?” he asked, finally settling on a pink bath bomb and starting to unwrap it. “I did that one about a week after I first saw you in the café on campus. I think it’s still one of my favorites I’ve done of you.”

“Th-there’s more?” you rasped. You couldn’t tell if your voice was scratching from the screaming you’d done earlier or from Steve strangling you in the park.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “I’ve tried to draw other things over the past couple of months, but nothing inspires me the way you do. Maybe I could get you to model for me sometime.” He shot you a wink with that last statement, but you just turned away, hugging yourself tightly.

When the tub was finally full, he set the bath bomb into it and walked towards you, but when your eyes widened and you started backing away from him, he stopped and sighed.

“Hon, you don’t have to be scared anymore. I _love_ you, you know that, right?”

“Then why,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as a tear escaped them, “did you hurt me?”

You jumped when Steve put his hands on your shoulders, resisting the urge to lean into him when he started massaging them gently.

“That isn’t far, doll. You were being difficult. And, I mean, _you_ hurt _me_ too, right? Biting me when all I wanted was a kiss? You needed to be punished; I think, deep down, you know that.”

You let out a sob, looking down at the floor and willing yourself to stop crying.

“Shh, baby, it’s ok,” Steve cooed, pulling you into a tight embrace, “I know. It’s never easy to take a punishment. But, hey.” He pulled back and tilted your face up to look at him. “I can be gentle, too. I can make you feel so good, if you let me. I can make it all better.

“C’mon, go ahead and get into the tub for me. I’ll show you.”

Not seeing any other option, you slowly walked over and lowered yourself into the tub, letting out a low hiss as the warm water hit your raw skin. Once you were fully settled, though, you couldn’t help but moan softly and let your tense muscles relax as it started soothing your wounds.

“Keep making noises like that and I might just have to join you in there,” Steve chuckled. Your eyes widened in a moment of panic, but you relaxed once more when you saw him making no moves to get in the tub with you.

No, all he did was roll his sleeves up a bit more and grab a cup from a shelf above you. Kneeling next to the tub, he gently guided you to let your head tilt back, and then the warm, soothing water was being poured over your scalp.

You closed your eyes, suddenly not caring about your nakedness in front of him, not feeling that same old spike of fear. You needed this; you needed a respite from the pain you’d just endured.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve murmured, using his nails to scratch lightly at your scalp as he started shampooing your hair. “See how nice it is when you just let me take care of you?”

You tried to tune him out as he kept murmuring soft words of encouragement, letting yourself zone out as he rinsed out your hair. You didn’t even protest when he took a sponge and started washing your body.

But when his hand started trailing lower and lower, you finally opened your eyes and grabbed onto his wrist.

“No,” you said, trying to pull his hand away from the apex of your tightly-clenched thighs. “Please, just…let me?”

Steve let out a sigh through his nose, but he relinquished the sponge to you. Nodding your thanks, you slowly opened your legs, wincing when you saw a thin ribbon of blood twist up through the water from your pussy.

“Oh, baby,” your captor sighed, moving his hands back to your shoulders to continue rubbing them. “I’m so sorry. I promise that once we start having sex more often, it won’t hurt as much. Soon, you’ll want it just as much as I do.”

With a stilted gasp you tore yourself away from him, clambering to the other side of the tub and pressing yourself against it. Steve let his head hang with disappointment, shaking it once before turning to look back up at you.

“Do you _want_ another punishment?” he asked, the cherry-sweet tone completely gone from his voice.

Gulping, you shook your head, holding the sponge to your chest as it heaved up and down with your breathing.

“Then get back here and let me finish your bath,” he growled.

Turning away from him, you slowly, reluctantly moved back to your previous spot, gasping when you felt him tear the sponge out of your hands.

“There you go,” Steve sighed, sounding exacerbated. “I won’t warn you again, baby. Behave. I promise I’ll give you something special if you do.”

He didn’t talk anymore as he finished washing you, gesturing for you to stand up when you were all done. You hurriedly took the towel he offered you, wrapping it around yourself to provide some form of cover over your body.

“Not so fast, doll,” Steve said, turning you around to face the mirror. “Lift the towel up and bend over for me, ok?”

You stared back at him in the mirror as you complied, silently begging him not to do whatever it was he had in mind. He stepped out of the room for a moment, but when he came back he was still fully-clothed, a green bottle of aloe vera in his hand.

“This should help you feel better,” he explained, squeezing out a dollop of the gel and rubbing it into your skin.

You let out a soft sigh, grateful for the relief it brought; the stinging in your ass started to fade away as he massaged in the jelly, and when he was all done, he let you fix the towel around yourself once more.

“I’m gonna go clean up a little, now,” he told you, pushing some of your damp hair out of your face. “You do whatever you need to feel comfortable, ok? Dry your hair, put on some clothes if you really feel the need to, whatever will make you feel better.”

“Clothes?” you asked, looking around the bathroom to see if you’d missed any.

“The closet’s through the door the left of the bed when you walk out,” he instructed.

With that, he left, and once the door was finally closed you rushed to lock it behind him, even though you knew it would do nothing to stop him if he really wanted to get to you. You let yourself sink to the floor, finally letting the tears you’d been suppressing fall while trying to stay as silent as possible.

How had this happened? You’d seen all the warning signs; why hadn’t you heeded them? How would you escape this place – escape _him_?

You closed your eyes and pulled your knees up to your chin, trying to trample down the anxiety rapidly expanding in your chest. You were smart; you could get out of this. But you couldn’t let him get the best of you.

You tried to think back and analyze your situation from a clinical standpoint, devoid of emotion. There was only one door that led out of the room you were in, and you’d heard the jingle of keys when Steve was opening and closing it; you assumed that Steve kept those keys with him wherever he went, probably in his pocket.

So now it was a matter of getting the keys. You knew that you would only have one shot to get them; if you failed in any way in your escape attempts, Steve had said he would tie you to the bed and keep you there. If that happened, you could kiss your freedom goodbye.

Your first option was to try and be sneaky; you could wait until Steve fell asleep and try to steal them from his pocket. But with his super-hearing, you knew that the chances of that plan succeeding were slim to none. He would hear you with those keys from a mile away, and you wouldn’t be able to outrun him to the stairs.

Your next option was to try and convince him to let you out. The pros of that were that he, in his own words, ‘loved’ you. If you could convince him that you’d fallen for him, too, then maybe he would get more comfortable with you. You could ask him to take you on a date after a while, or say some bullshit about wanting him to meet your mom.

But you shrugged off that idea; it would take too much time, and you didn’t know if you could wait that long.

Your last option was to fight; you were tempted to just laugh that option off, but something in your memory gave you pause. You traced back your steps, remembering when Steve had first cut you loose from your ropes.

He’d used a pocketknife.

And then it dawned on you. Maybe the way out wasn’t through using just one of those plans. Maybe it was using a combination of all three.

“Hey, doll? You okay in there?”

You jolted, looking up to the door from your spot on the rug.

“U-um,” you called out, hurrying to your feet. “Yeah! Just… trying to figure out how to use the hairdryer!”

You searched beneath the sink, finding the device in question and plugging it in.

“You need any help with it?”

With trembling hands, you turned it on, praying that he wouldn’t come in.

“No, thanks! I got it.”

You didn’t even usually dry your hair, but you didn’t tell Steve that. You just used a comb while the hair dryer was running, watching your reflection’s movements.

You were going to get out of this place, even if it killed you.

When you were finished in the bathroom, you held onto your towel tightly and walked out into the bedroom. Steve was stripping the bed when you walked past, and you winced when you saw the large bloodstain on the white sheets you’d left behind.

Tearing your eyes away from the sight, you scurried into the closet and closed the door behind you. Looking around at the large space, your eyes fell to the teddy bear in the corner; it was the one Steve had won you at Coney Island.

You looked at it pleadingly, as if it could help you escape, but all it did was slump against the wall.

“At least I have one friend here,” you sighed to yourself sardonically.

Tossing your towel into the hamper by the door, you surveyed the room around you. Most of the closet was taken up by dresses. The majority of them had short poodle skirts and low necklines, but towards the back of the small room you found a rack of nightgowns. The longest one reached just to your knees, and its neck- and hemline were lined with lace. You would’ve preferred a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but there were none to be found. The chest of drawers shoved up against the wall was filled only with lingerie. Your stomach had turned over when you saw the frilly, lacy undergarments, cringing to think of Steve picking them out for you.

When you’d pulled on the nightgown and the most modest pair of panties you could find (they were lace like the others, but the material was thick enough not to be see-through), you took a deep breath and opened the door.

The first thing you noticed were the fresh set of sheets covering the bed; these ones were a dove gray, the same color as your sheets back home. Steve was sitting in one of the armchairs by the bookshelves, a paperback novel in his hands. You just then noticed that there was a vase of fresh flowers sitting on one of the nightstands – daisies.

“Oh, hey, baby,” Steve said, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. You turned away when you saw how his eyes were raking up and down your body, focusing instead on the daisies, so pretty and innocent, like you used to be.

“Hey, you like those?” Steve asked when he saw what you were looking at. “I always liked daisies. They were my mom’s favorite flower.”

You flinched when you felt his hand on your cheek, but otherwise you remained motionless as his fingertips drifted down to the neckline of your gown.

“I knew you would look good in this,” he murmured. “Just like an angel.”

You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet.

“I-I’m tired,” you stammered. “What time is it?”

He glanced down at his watch, letting out a short whistle.

“Sheesh, it’s already 10 pm. No wonder you’re tired,” he remarked. Then, a sly smile stretched across his features. “Plus, I must’ve worn you out earlier.”

Your knuckles were white with how tight you were clenching your fists, and you felt a wave of nausea settle in your belly when his hand moved down further, palming at your breast.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it? You were practically begging me to make you cum there at the end. And don’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips against your ear, “forget what I told you after; good girls get to cum. And you’ve been very…very…good this evening.”

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, trying to push him away, “Please, can I just…go to bed?”

That sly smirk was still on his face as he nodded his head.

“Sure, baby. Go ahead and crawl into bed.”

You gulped as you did as he said, lifting up the sheets before laying down. His hand caught your wrist when you moved to cover yourself with the blankets, though, and you nearly screamed when he started crawling onto the mattress.

“Steve, _please_ , I just want to sleep,” you begged. “Please; I’m so sore, I don’t want-“

He shushed you, pressing a finger to your lips while his other hand started creeping up your inner thigh, slowly pushing your nightgown up.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, pressing a soft peck to your lips. “We don’t have to make love again. But I do wanna show you, just like I promised. I wanna show you how good I can make you feel.”

You didn’t know what to feel more sickened by – the hand that was delicately peeling off your panties, or the fact that he’d called what he’d done to you ‘ _making love’_. You wanted to kick him right in his perfect teeth, but then you reminded yourself of the half-formed plan you’d come up with in the bathroom. If it was going to work, you would have to make him believe he was winning you over.

At least, you told yourself that that was the reason why you let out a moan when his fingers grazed your clit. You bit your lip and looked up at the ceiling, feeling the heat of his stare as he slowly started spreading your wetness around your sensitive bud.

“You know, you’ve been acting like you don’t want me,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours, “But your pussy sure is wet for me. How do you explain that, hm?”

You didn’t answer, simply allowing your eyes to close as he kissed you again. It was nothing like your first kiss; it had been bruising and possessive and _punishing_. But the way he was kissing you now was…pleasant. His tongue slowly dragged along the seam of your lips until they opened for him, and he didn’t rush the pace of it. No, he kissed you as if he was unwrapping a present, as if he was savoring every last bit of your mouth.

“I wanna show you how I wanted it to be,” he whispered. “Our first time together.”

He slowly started moving down your body, lifting your nightgown up around your hips as he dragged your panties all the way down your legs. Your ass stung with the slide of fabric against it, but when he pressed you down into the sheets and kissed the top of your mound, the discomfort started to fade.

You gasped when you felt his tongue slide against your folds, and you unconsciously spread your legs for him. You glanced down just in time to see his smirk widen before he delved in, sliding his tongue over your entrance and up to your clit.

“Fuck-“ you moaned, your back arching up against your will.

Your hand clapped down over your mouth, trying to muffle the noises that were escaping it as he started slowly lapping at your bud, but Steve heard them anyway. Your eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as you started losing yourself in the pleasure. No one had ever done this for you before, and Steve definitely knew what he was doing.

The sloppy sound of his tongue moving against you filled the air alongside the soft moans you couldn’t hold back, and each time your hips bucked up, each time you gasped as he moved his tongue at _just_ the right angle, you heard him let out a growl.

When he slid in one of his fingers, he was met with no resistance, your pussy greedily sucking in the digit as he suckled at your clit. You glanced downwards and could see your wetness glistening within his beard, and for a reason you would feel ashamed about later, you felt yourself clench at the sight.

First one and then two more fingers were added, but the stretch was _delicious_ , nothing like the burning feeling of his cock slamming into you earlier. Once more, you felt your orgasm rising up inside of you, but once more he pulled away at just the last second. You did nothing to contain your desperate wail at having your release taken away so cruelly, but when you looked up to see Steve unbuckling his belt, you frantically tried to push yourself away from him.

“Hey, none of that,” he snapped. “You were being so good. Just let me do this and I’ll let you cum.”

You whimpered, but when he lay between your legs again you forced yourself to stay still, not wanting to face yet another one of his brutal punishments. His mouth crashed onto yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips.

This time, when he entered you, you only felt a small twinge of pain. The moan that escaped your lips, though, came as a surprise to you both. The head of his cock was pushing against that spot so deep down inside of you, and you couldn’t help but moan again when he drew himself almost completely out of you and thrust back in, dragging his dick along that spot once more.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, working his hips slowly, “you have no idea how good you feel…”

Your nails dug into his biceps when he started to move faster, rolling his hips fluidly and hitting that spot that made you see stars. You kept your eyes on the ceiling, trying to imagine that it was anybody else on top of you, that you were back home in your apartment instead of some basement. That you were free instead of trapped with this madman.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Steve whispered in your ear. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to feel you cum around me so bad-“

He clenched his teeth and let out a growl, all of a sudden starting to slam into you. Your eyes met his for a second as he rose up onto his knees, lifting your hips up to meet his thrusts as if you were a ragdoll.

“Take it, doll; take me nice and deep-“

“F-fuck-!” you cried up, feeling your orgasm starting to build up once again. Your hips were moving of their own accord, trying to rise up and chase your release as the pleasure inside of you crested.

Finally, _finally_ , you felt the knot inside of you burst, and you heard yourself screaming Steve’s name as you came. You couldn’t tell if your eyes were closed or open for a moment; vaguely, you were aware of Steve letting out a howl as he came inside of you, but you were floating, not able to concentrate on anything except the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Doll? Doll, you ok?”

You blinked, focusing on Steve’s face as he panted above you, and nodded your head. You let your arms fall back to your sides, feeling as if they weighed a ton each.

“Good,” he smiled. “Thought I’d knocked you out there for a second.” His lips were warm and wet when he kissed you, and you noticed that he was still very hard and very much still inside of you.

“Didn’t I tell you that I could make you feel good?” You gasped when you felt him start to thrust again, feeling a twinge of soreness as he bumped against your already-battered cervix. “Hm? Can you feel it now? How perfectly we fit together?”

You were too spent to anything but lay there as Steve took you again. For a moment, you felt as if you _were_ going to pass out from exhaustion, but then his hand had roughly squeezed your cheeks, prompting your eyes to fly open.

“Eyes on me, hon,” he panted. “I wanna see you cum again; you’ve earned it.”

At first, you thought it would be impossible, but when you felt your lower half stirring once again, you gripped onto his shoulders again, looking up at him pleadingly.

“You getting close, baby?” he grunted. “Say it. Tell me how good it feels.”

You were silent, looking away in shame, but his hand smacked your hip, causing you to yelp and look back up at him.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I-It feels so good,” you whispered.

“Are you gonna cum for me again?”

One of his fingers found its way to your clit, and your entire body jolted as if it had just been electrocuted.

“Y-yes!” you cried. “I-I’m gonna cum!”

“Then say it,” he growled. “Say, ‘Please, Steve, let me cum.’ C’mon, be a good girl and ask politely.”

Your back arched up off of the bed when his fingers quickened, and you rushed to comply with his order before you came again.

“P-please, Steve, let me cum,” you begged. “Please, please, I’m so close, I need-“

“I know what you need, baby,” he moaned. “I know what you need. Cum for me, doll. Cum for me-“

Before he could even finish his sentence, you were cumming. You felt your pussy clamp around him, and with a muffled, “O-oh, God-“, he was finding his release as well.

After he’d pulled out of you and rolled over onto his back, you didn’t move, shame starting to creep its way into your afterglow. You tried to tell yourself that it was all part of the plan, that you were only pretending to like what he was doing because you wanted him to trust you. But deep down, you knew that that was a lie. You’d never cum that hard in your life.

“You were so good, (Y/N),” Steve sighed, pulling you against his side. “I love you so much, doll. I wanna take such good care of you.”

You let your head fall onto his chest, too exhausted to fight your way over to the other side of the bed. He was still whispering sweet little things in your ear when you fell asleep, his quiet declarations of love becoming more and more disturbing as you drifted off.

The last thing you registered him saying before you went to sleep was truly terrifying, sending an icy spike of fear straight through your heart, and it echoed in your dreams while you tried to rest.

“You’ll make such a good mother.”

_________

The next day, you woke up alone, a note resting on the pillow beside you. Trying to ignore your aching muscles, you sat up and read it.

_Good morning, beautiful. I’m out running a few errands, but I’ll be back around 9 with some breakfast._

_I love you._

Rolling your eyes, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, letting out a groan of disgust when you felt his dried cum flaking off of your thighs. You waddled into the bathroom and, after struggling to figure out how his shower worked for a solid five minutes, you took a hurried shower, scrubbing your skin raw as if it would wash away his touches from last night.

By the time you finished, it was around 8:30, so you took your time getting dressed. None of the dresses were really your style; they looked vintage, like something from Steve’s time. Your stomach turned as you pulled on the first dress you saw that didn’t actively repel you; you hated playing along with his sick fantasies.

Your dress came down to your knees, and it was black with tiny little cherries embroidered across it; its skirt flared out at the hips, swishing gently with every step you took. When you finally exited the closet, you meandered over to his bookshelf, skimming the titles.

There was at least one copy of every book you owned back home; he must have gone into your apartment at some point.

“Sick freak,” you muttered to yourself.

You paused when you came to a book that didn’t look like all of the others; sliding it out of its place, you realized that it was a leather-bound sketchbook. You opened it to the first page and smiled at the drawing of the New York City skyline; even though you knew Steve had been the one to draw it, you couldn’t deny that it was a well-done sketch.

Your smile fell when you turned to the next page, though. It was a drawing of you, like the one Steve had hanging up in the bathroom. In this one, though, you were laying down in bed, wearing the oversized college sweater and pajama shorts you usually wore to bed. You gulped, flipping to the next page – another picture of you, laughing at something he hadn’t bothered drawing.

Feeling a wave of nausea rising up in your throat, you kept flipping the pages. You, you, you, you – they were all of you, save for two. The one of the skyline, and then one of a man. You thought that his face was familiar, but you couldn’t place where you’d seen him before.

He had long hair in the drawing, and his cheeks held a thin layer of stubble Steve had shaded in. Aside from his handsome features, the most striking thing about him was his metal arm. You frowned as you stared at the man’s face, certain that you’d seen him somewhere.

The door behind you opened suddenly, slashing through the silence in the room with the squealing of its rusted hinges. Steve walked in holding a brown paper bag and a large wooden box, giving you a radiant smile when he saw you.

“Hey, doll,” he said, setting the objects in his hands down onto the bed. “You look fantastic in that dress; I knew you would the moment I saw it in the store.”

You forced a smile to your face, trying to ignore the hammering in your heart; _focus on the plan_ , you told yourself. _Focus on the plan_.

“Thank you,” you told him meekly.

He walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, his smile only growing when you didn’t move away. His eyes skirted down to the sketchbook still in your hands, and for a moment you were afraid that he would be upset with you for being nosy.

But he only took the book from your hands and studied the drawing of the man you’d been looking at.

“You checking out more of my artwork, baby?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“Um… I think it’s really good,” you said, forcing a strained smile to your lips. “You’re a really good artist.”

Steve seemed to glow under your praise, and he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Thank you, baby,” he smiled. “That means a lot coming from my best girl. Speaking of! I brought a present for you.”

He gestured for you to follow him to the bed, and you watched as he excitedly opened the box atop of it. Inside, there was a brand new Crosley record player, and beneath it were a stack of records.

“I have one of these at home, but I figured it would be nice for us to have some music while we’re here,” he explained. “Did you know that record players are getting popular again? A brand new record shop opened up close by; I guess history really does repeat itself, huh?”

You nodded, starting to flip through the records. You noticed that two of them were from your favorite band. There were several dedicated to older music, too - Frank Sinatra, Nat King Col, old movie soundtracks.

You looked up to see Steve watching you expectantly, and you gave him another weak smile.

“This is great, Steve,” you assured him. “I love it; thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby doll,” he cooed. You felt his arms wrap around you from behind, and his breath was warm against your ear when he spoke. “I do have one condition, though.”

You gulped, fearing the worst when you felt his pelvis press against your ass.

“Wh-what’s that?”

“That you dance with me,” he said, “after I have it all plugged in.”

You nearly slumped with relief, and you nodded quickly.

“Sure, Steve. We can dance together if you want.”

Your captor’s face lit up, and he quickly let you go to start hooking up the machine. You sat on the bed as he worked, reading the back of the records to see what songs were on them. Every now and then, your eyes would look up to Steve, sliding down his body to his ass. Or, rather, to the shape of his keys where they rested in his back pocket.

“Alright, hon, I-“ Steve straightened up and caught you staring, his lips twisting up into a smirk when your eyes rushed to meet his. “Oh? See something you like?”

Your cheeks burned, and you emphatically shook your head no, but he still had a mischievous look on his face as he walked back over to you.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that, later,” he chided you. You opened your mouth to protest, but you gave up before you even began.

He flipped through the records until he found the one he was looking for, gesturing for you to follow him as he went to put it on the player. When he set the needle in place, the sound of a vintage big band flooded the air, and you recognized the tune as “It’s Been A Long, Long Time” by Harry James.

“This is my favorite song,” Steve explained, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders. You felt his huge palms rest on your hips as the two of you started swaying. “I knew from the second I saw you that I wanted to share it with you.”

You sighed, feeling your heart constrict. If things were different, if he hadn’t done all of the horrible things to you that he had, you would have melted upon hearing him say that.

“When did you first see me?” you suddenly asked. “You mentioned yesterday that, um… Well, you made it sound like you’ve known me longer than just two months.”

He smiled, looking almost sheepish for a second.

“I saw you for the first time back in April,” he confessed. “You were sitting in the café with Tina, and just… I’d always laughed off the idea of love at first sight, you know? I didn’t think it was possible. But you were so beautiful, so… _perfect_ , and I just knew you were the one.”

You felt as if something had sucked all of the air out of your lungs. _April_. He’d been stalking you, he’d been _obsessed_ with you, since April.

“Why,” you asked, “Why didn’t you just…talk to me? Why do all of this?”

Steve flinched, his eyes sparking with that same anger you’d seen yesterday, and you ducked your head, letting it rest against his chest.

“I heard you telling Tina you didn’t wanna date until you graduated,” he eventually admitted. “And I just knew I couldn’t wait that long. I… I waited too long one time; I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

You had no idea who he was talking about, but you didn’t press the issue, just continuing to sway to the beat with Steve. When he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, you let him, letting your hands trail down his back, towards the pocket where he kept his pocketknife.

Now isn’t the time, you reminded yourself, forcing your hands to stop at the small of his back. Soon. You just have to be patient.

__________

Five days went by, and if it wasn’t for the terror of cohabitating with a crazy person, you would’ve been bored with the routine you’d fallen into.

In the mornings, Steve would usually be gone. The only appliance in the small space was a minifridge, so he would usually stock up with food for the day in the mornings. While he was away, you would shower and dress, and when he came home you would let him give you a kiss.

After that, the two of you would read while sitting on the couch; he forced you to sit in his lap, but the books always served as a good distraction. In the afternoons, after lunch, he would ask you to model for him. At first, it didn’t bother you so much. The first day he drew you, you’d sat in one of his armchairs reading, ignoring him for the most part.

On the second day, he’d asked (or ordered, more like it) you to wear one of his shirts, leaving it open to show your lingerie underneath.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” you’d said at first, desperate for him not to force you into any state of undress. “What if someone finds your sketchbook and sees?”

Steve had just smirked and pecked your cheek.

“Then they’ll know that you belong to me,” he’d answered. “Now go on, don’t be shy. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, doll.”

On the third day, he’d made you pose in lingerie he picked out – a pale pink, lacey bralette with matching panties. You’d been on the verge of tears the whole time he was drawing you, but in his final picture, you’d had a smile on your face. You’d wondered, then, if that’s what he always saw when you were sad. If he really was so crazy as to believe you were happy with him.

After dinner, he would put on the record player and lay with you on the couch while the two of you talked. Or, actually, he would talk. You would zone out most of the time, only muttering a quiet ‘uh-huh’ every now and then. Mostly he would talk about his childhood, sharing stories with you about his mother or Bucky. He’d even opened up about ‘the only woman he’d ever loved’ – a British agent named Peggy Carter.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he would have done the same things he was doing to you to her. You hoped not; you hoped that he’d only lost his mind after he’d been fighting for so many years in a time he never should’ve lived to see. But you would never know for sure.

The one thing in your routine you refused to get used to was the sex. Every night, and at least once during the day, he would fuck you. And the only time you never came was on the first night, when he’d stolen your virginity, your innocence, and, really, your life.

It was never as brutal as your first time had been. His touches would start off gentle, teasing your skin as he whispered filthy things into your ear. He, thankfully, never asked you to give him oral, but he sure seemed to love giving it to you. You’d lost count of how many surfaces he’d eaten you out on; on the second day, it had been the bathroom counter. On the third, it was the sofa and then one of the armchairs. Really, if it was horizontal and strong enough to support your weight, he’d made you cum atop it.

You still never got used to the stretch of his cock inside of you, though. Because, while nothing was as bad as that first night, the stretch always stung, always took your breath away. That initial pain never lasted for long, though. Soon enough, whether you liked it or not, you would be moaning for him. He would always, without fail, make you beg to cum, and you always, without fail, would. You hated it even as you loved it, but it was only when you noticed yourself craving his touch while he was away that you knew something had to give.

He was conditioning you to want him, but you would be damned if it would be that easy to break you.

On the fourth night, you stayed awake, waiting for his arm to loosen around you in his sleep. When it did, you waited even longer, not moving a muscle until you heard him start to snore. Holding your breath, you started wiggling away from him, lifting his arm off of you as you slid towards the bed.

When you were finally out of his grip, though, you heard him stir, turning onto his side to face you.

“M’where ya goin…” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Just to the bathroom,” you whispered. You squinted in the darkness; the only light in the room came from the glow of the alarm clock, but you could just make out the movement of him nodding before letting himself fall back against the pillows.

“Hurry back,” he slurred. “’s cold without you.”

You slid your feet onto the cold floor, dragging them with your steps, heading towards the pile of his clothes he’d left on the floor. When you felt your toe come in contact with them, you threw yourself onto the ground, making a gasp of mock-surprise.

“(Y/N)?” You saw Steve sit up onto his elbows, looking towards your prone form on the floor. “You ok, baby?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. As you stood up, you fumbled, knowing this was your only chance. “Just tripped on your clothes; go back to sleep.”

He hummed and laid back down just as your fingers slipped into the pocket of his pants and found his pocketknife. You slipped it out of its pocket and stood up, wrapping your fist around it as you went into the bathroom.

You locked the door behind you and sat on the toilet, going about your business as you studied the weapon in your hands. It wasn’t large, but it was something; one more part of your plan was fulfilled.

You stowed it between some towels in the linen closet and washed your hands, stepping out of the bathroom to find Steve standing up, naked as the day he was born, holding his jeans in his hands.

“S-steve?” you asked, doing your best to calm the wild hammering in your heart. “What, um… What are you doing?”

He looked up at you, and for a moment you felt all of your hopes, all of your plans, torn into pieces. But when he smiled, you faltered, forcing a matching smile onto your lips. Maybe it wasn’t all over.

“They’re still here,” he said.

“Um… What’s still there?” you asked.

“The keys!” He walked over to you, cupping your cheek. “Sorry, I just… I thought maybe you would, uh…”

“Try to take them?” you finished. He smiled sheepishly and nodded, pecking your lips.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he sighed. “I should’ve trusted you. I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. To _us_.”

You made yourself grin and cup his cheek.

“Steve, I… I don’t think I want to leave anymore,” you said. “I mean, I would like to leave this place, but… I promise I don’t want to leave you. I’m starting to think… Well, maybe it sounds silly, but I’m starting to think you might’ve been right. Maybe we _were_ made for each other.”

Steve inhaled deeply through his nose, his lips parted as he searched your face of any signs of a lie. You carefully schooled your expression into one of honesty, meeting his eyes with a small smile and praying that you were a better actress than you’d previously thought in your life.

His eyes started watering, a tear slowly rolling down his face as he looked at you, and suddenly you were being lifted up into his arms. He pressed your body flush against his, kissing your shoulder with trembling lips.

“God, baby, I… That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear you say. I love you so, _so_ much,” he said. He sat you down, a broad grin parting his lips as he wiped away his tear. “Jeez, doll, I don’t think I’ve cried in years. What’re you doing to me?”

You blamed the small prick of guilt you felt on Stockholm Syndrome and pushed it aside, giving him the most earnest grin you could muster.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you suggested.

That night, Steve made love to you slowly, and you were able to stop acting as he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you – first, with his fingers, then with his tongue, then with his cock. He left the lamp on so his eyes would never have to leave yours, and something in his blue eyes made it impossible for you to look away.

The next morning, you woke up before him, something that had never happened before. You sat up in bed, turning to your side so you could watch his sleeping face. He seemed peaceful; you never could have guessed that so much evil could reside underneath his handsome features. 

But your sore muscles were a testament to all he had done to you, as were the finger-shaped bruises on your hips. With a sigh, you started to move away, but then his eyes opened and he smiled at you.

“Good morning, baby,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you answered honestly, drawing a chuckle from him.

“But a good kind of sore, right?” He didn’t wait for your answer before standing up and walking over to the closet, pulling a cableknit sweater out of the drawer he’d reserved for himself and a pair of boxer briefs.

“I’m thinking breakfast burritos this morning,” he said as he dressed. “What do you think?”

“That’s fine,” you answered, standing up. You’d grown accustomed to him seeing you naked, though your skin still crawled anything you caught the hungry look he would get in his eyes. “Just hurry back to me, ok?”

Steve paused at this, arching an eyebrow at you.

“You…mean that?” he asked, and you smiled. Now was the time to sell the act.

“Yeah, Steve.” You leaned up on your tip-toes, pressing your lips to his for just a fraction of a second. “I mean it.”

He broke into an ear-to-ear grin and captured your lips once more.

“God, I love you,” he breathed before pecking your forehead. “I’ll be thirty minutes tops, ok?”

You nodded, giving him one last peck before going into the closet to pick out your clothes for the day. You threw on a pale blue dress, walking out into the main room right as the door at the top of the stairs clicked shut behind him.

It was time.

With your heart beating a mile a minute, you ran to the bathroom and retrieved the knife from its hiding spot, clicking open the blade and gripping it in one of your hands. As you walked out of the bathroom, your eyes swept over the space you’d been living in for the last half of the week, wondering if there was anything you should take with you. But there was no money to be found; you’d spent most of your mornings alone looking for anything that would help you.

But no, the only thing you would need was Steve’s keys. And, if your plan went accordingly, you would have those soon enough.

On shaky legs, you climbed the stairs, pressing yourself to the side of the wall as you waited. When Steve first walked in, he wouldn’t be able to see you where you were currently standing, a fact that you would be taking advantage of. You played out all of the possible scenarios in your head, heart beating frantically; you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it on the other side of Brooklyn.

You didn’t allow yourself to relax as you stood there, keeping all of your muscles tight as a bowstring, your knuckles white from how hard you were gripping the knife. _You can do this_ , your brain kept saying. _You can do this_.

You jolted when you heard his keys slide into the lock on the other side of the door. It was now or never.

As soon as he walked through the door, you were on him, plunging the knife as deep as you could into his chest.

“SHIT,” he wailed, reflexively throwing you off of him.

Your back hit the wall so hard that, when you landed on the ground, you were winded, but you still managed to scream when you felt Steve’s hands on your biceps. You thrashed as he tried to pick you up, slashing blindly with the knife until you saw blood covering your hands.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH-“ he screamed, punching you in the side as you slashed across his chest. You stumbled, knowing immediately that he’d at the very least bruised your ribs, but you were being fueled by adrenaline.

You ducked when he tried to grab you again, plunging the knife into the side of his thigh and pulling it out, washing as blood spurted out of the new wound. Steve went down onto one knee, clutching at the hole in his leg frantically.

You stumbled to the side when his other arm swung out at you, trying to get past him to the door. A hand wrapped around your wrist, though, jerking you back towards him so hard that the knife went flying out of your hand, clattering down the stairs.

“I’m gonna make you pay for this,” he was growling. Despite the menace of his words, though, you could see his face getting paler by the second, and when you kicked him in the shoulder as hard as you could, he lost his grip on you.

For a second, you felt as if the world was moving in slow motion. As soon as he lost his hold on you, you spun to the side, running out of the still-open door. Gripping the handle with both hands, you wrenched it shut behind you, just barely catching the look of surprise on Steve’s face as he tried in vain to reach the door in time.

You thanked the heavens that his keys were still in the lock, and with shaking hands you hurried to lock him inside. As soon as it was done, you watched as the handle started jiggling wildly from the inside, and for a second you only stood there in shock, staring down at the blood on your hands.

But then you heard an animalistic yell from its other side, and you stumbled back when you heard the distinct booming of his fist pounding against the door.

“LET ME OUT,” he screamed, his voice more high-pitched and desperate than you’d ever heard it before. “LET ME OUT YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

The metal groaned when he hit it again, and you didn’t want to stick around to see if he would actually manage to break it down. Turning on your heel, you started walking down further into what you now recognized as a house. You were in a hallway with photographs lining the walls, and you gasped when you realized who they were of – you.

Every single picture was one of you – in your bed, in a classroom, in a library. They were all of you. You hurried past them as the banging got more and more insistent, heading straight for the front door. You only paused when you saw a wallet resting on the side table beside it, hesitating only for a moment before grabbing it.

“I’LL FIND Y-“ you heard Steve start to shout, but his voice was cut off as you walked out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

You blinked in the sudden rush of sunlight; you were on in the city. The distant shapes of skyscrapers rose up behind a row of brownstones, and when you saw a taxi driving by, you stumbled down the steps of the home behind you and waved at it frantically.

When it paused on the side of the road, you didn’t hesitate to climb into the backseat despite the protests of its driver.

“Watch it, lady,” he cried. “Is that- What the fuck are you doing covered in blood? You better not get it on my seats, or I’ll-“

“I need you to take me to Buffalo,” you interrupted him.

The cabbie laughed, and you could see his eyes roll in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, right, girlie,” he chuckled. “I don’t go out of the city.”

You rooted around in Steve’s wallet, pulling out a handful of hundred dollar bills and holding them out to him.

“I can pay you $500 now, and I’ll give you $500 more once we get there.”

It only took the cab driver a second before he put the car in drive and started heading down the street, rolling down the partition to accept the cash.

“Jeez, lady, you must be in some kind of trouble,” he sighed. You leaned your head back, the gravity of what you’d just done weighing heavily on your shoulders.

“Not anymore,” you replied. “Not anymore.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy the finale!!!!

Being back in your childhood bedroom was bittersweet. The same twin bed was pushed into the corner; the same pictures were on your walls. And yet so much had changed since the days when this was your home.

You lay curled up on the small mattress, watching your window with unseeing eyes. It had snowed last night; a pure white sheen rested over everything. The only disturbance to the blanket covering your front yard were the footprints and tire tracks your mom had left behind when she’d gone to the store that morning.

With a sigh, you rolled over onto your back, one of your hands coming to rest over your stomach. You still hadn’t told her. Hell, you were still having trouble accepting the truth yourself.

When you’d shown up shivering on her doorstep – barefoot, covered in blood, and with no luggage to speak of – she’d bombarded you with questions. You hadn’t been able to answer anything, though. In fact, you didn’t say anything on your first night being back home. You’d just shuffled into the living room, sank down onto the sofa, and cried.

After a night of fitful sleep, you’d told her the basics in the morning – that you’d been raped and kept as a hostage by a very powerful man. Her first reaction was anger, and she’d grabbed her coat and urged you to come with her straight to the police station.

But then, she’d seen your eyes. You hadn’t looked in a mirror yet at that point, but she’d always been good at reading you. She could see how helpless, how hopeless, you were. And when you’d told her that he was too powerful, too well-connected, to be punished for the crimes he’d done to you, she’d believed you.

After that, it was like both of you were grieving. She emailed your professors for you, explaining that you wouldn’t be returning to finish out your semester. She’d even hired some people to pack up some of the things from your apartment and bring them to her house; you’d told her that you didn’t feel safe going back, and she hadn’t questioned you.

Once you got past the initial shock of what had happened, you’d been a shell of your former self. All you could do was cry or sit staring blankly at the wall, trying your best to trample down the fear, the anxiety, that at any moment Steve would come busting down your mother’s door to take you back to his basement.

It was so bad that you couldn’t keep your food down, especially in the mornings. You’d given up on trying to eat breakfast altogether; after spending a sleepless night plagued by nightmares, you couldn’t keep anything on your stomach.

It was only after the second week of you being there that your mom started to question you further – not about who had done this to you, but, rather, a much more disturbing topic.

You’d been hunched over the toilet bowl early in the morning, catching your breath after another round of nausea, when you felt her comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, I… I need to ask you a question,” she’d murmured. “It’s an uncomfortable question, but it needs to be addressed, alright? Did he… Did he ever use protection?”

Your eyes had flown open, and you knew. You didn’t need a test to confirm what you already could feel in your gut, but you took one anyway, and your greatest fears had been confirmed. The trauma, the terror, that you now lived with weren’t the only souvenirs that Steve had left you with.

You were pregnant.

You still hadn’t told your mom, even though it had been a week since you found out. You’d always found a way to dodge the question, thinking stupidly that, if you just ignored it, if you refused to acknowledge the life growing inside of you, then it would go away. It hadn’t, though, nor would it ever, and you were faced with a decision to make.

Were you going to keep it?

With a sigh, you got out of bed, taking the first shower you’d had in days. You tried to keep your mind off of everything, to banish all thought so you could have a few minutes of peace, but everything reminded you of him. It was his fingers washing your hair, his hand scrubbing your skin clean.

“See how much better it is when you just let me take care of you?”

You sobbed, sinking to your knees as his voice echoed in your ear. How long would it take for you to be free? To be _truly_ free of him?

By the time you got out of the shower, it was almost noon. After pulling on some leggings, an oversized sweater, and some thick wool socks, you made your way into the kitchen, deciding that you would start off with some coffee and, if you could keep that down, some toast.

You froze where you stood, however, when you heard the bell ring.

Feeling your heartbeat quicken, you creeped to the door, trying to keep your footfalls silent. Ducking your head, you peaked out of the peephole.

A policeman was standing on your porch, his hands shoved into the pockets of a thick winter coat. You let out a sigh, feeling relieved but also confused at his presence. You opened the door just a crack, poking your head out from behind it and trying your best to smile at the man.

“Hello,” you greeted him timidly. “What can I do for you, officer?”

He looked up and gave you a warm, close-lipped smile, and you were both struck by how handsome he was and how familiar he looked. You couldn’t, for the life of you, place where you’d seen him, but you knew without a doubt that you’d met before.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he smiled. “Are you Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) by any chance?”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling a pang of uncertainty.

“Why do you ask?”

He chuckled, taking his hands out of his pockets to show you his badge. You noticed that he was wearing leather gloves as he showed you his identification.

“I’m Sergeant James, NYPD,” he said. You turned the badge over in your hands, looking for any sign that it could be false, but it looked authentic to you. “I’m here in regards to an anonymous tip we received regarding you and a Mr. Steven Rogers. You might also know him as Captain America?”

You gulped, squeezing your eyes shut as you envisioned his face again – smiling at you, scowling at you, cumming inside of you-

“Wh-what,” you asked, shaking your head, “What kind of anonymous tip?”

“…I think it would be best if I stepped inside for a few minutes,” he said, taking back his badge. “You don’t look so good; this might be a conversation best had sitting down.”

You nodded hesitantly, slowly opening the door wider for him. You closed and locked it behind you before leading him to the sofa, sitting as far away from him on the couch as possible. Once you were settled in, he took his hat off, revealing neatly cut brown hair – it was almost a militaristic hairstyle, you noticed, but his clear blue eyes softened the look, especially when he leaned towards you and gave you an honest smile.

“Listen, Miss (Y/L/N),” he began, “I know that, if any of the allegations our anonymous tip made are true, then you’ve been through quite the ordeal, alright? I’m not here to question or judge you; I just need to ask you a few things. And, if you’re comfortable with me after our little talk, I would like to bring you down to the station with me to talk to a few of my colleagues, ok?”

You gulped and nodded, bringing your knees up to your chin and hugging them tightly. After clearing his throat, Officer James leaned back against the sofa, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Is it true that Steve Rogers abducted you?” he began. You closed your eyes, nodding.

“Yes.”

“What did he do after he abducted you?”

You felt a tear slip past your eyelids, and you jolted when you felt the officer’s hand on your knee. You looked down and saw that he was just offering you a handkerchief, though, which you gladly took.

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, dabbing at your eyes. His smile only grew, and he gave you an encouraging nod. “Um… After he kidnapped me, he, um…” You paused, trying to swallow back more tears, and Officer James waited patiently for you to regain your composure. “After he kidnapped me, he um… He raped me. He kept me for five days and…and…”

You paused, setting your forehead on your knees and trying to breathe.

“Hey, hon, it’s ok,” the officer tried to soothe, but you flinched at the nickname. “So you’re saying that you never consented to any kind of sexual interactions with him?”

Your breath caught in your throat, remembering that last night. You had been the one to suggest going back to bed; you’d _wanted_ him to fuck you, even if it was just part of your escape attempt. But, surely, that didn’t count… Right?

“I… No,” you finally answered.

“Seems like you had to think about that for a second there,” Officer James noted. “Are you sure that you didn’t-“

“What would it matter if I had?” you snapped. “The first time I tried to fight back, he hit me again and _again_ and _again_ , and then he raped me. I just… I didn’t want him to keep hurting me.” Your voice cracked, and you could see the sympathetic look in the officer’s eyes.

“I understand,” he said, but you only rolled your eyes.

“You understand? Have you ever been kept somewhere against your will? Forced to do something that you hate, that will leave you scarred for the rest of your life inside and out?”

“Yes.” Your eyes widened at the officer’s abrupt answer. His eyes were hard and truthful when he’d said so, and you immediately shut your mouth against any further protests.

“Now,” he went on, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, “Do you have any proof that it was Steve Rogers who violated you?”

“I… I have scars on my, um… my wrists,” you stuttered, pushing up the sleeves of your sweater so he could see where Steve had tied you up with rope. “And I could show you where he was keeping me; there’s bound to be evidence there.”

“Well actually, the police have already studied his home, and we did find DNA from the both of you,” he assured you. “That was the first thing we did after we got the tip; that’s why I’m here. But any semen or similar fluids had either been on the sheets, which Mr. Rogers informed us he washed before we could get there, or they’d been on another surface that he’d similarly cleaned. So, while we do have proof that you were there, we cannot prove that the two of you were…intimate.”

You gulped, feeling your limbs go numb at the sound of Steve’s name; he had survived. And he’d escaped. If this police officer could find you, then what was stopping Steve from doing the same?

“Miss (Y/L/N),” he went on, oblivious to your rising panic, “Steve Rogers is a national icon. He will have the best lawyers, and he will have the public on his side going into any trial. Now, I want to help you. Right now, we can’t prove anything, but if you come with me to the station, we can-“

“I do have something,” you interrupted him. Slowly, your eyes raised up to meet his, and you let out a shuttering breath before speaking again.

“I’m pregnant.”

The officer blinked once, twice, before fully processing the statement. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out as he stared at you. You looked away in shame, the world around you warped by the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

“I found out a week ago,” you murmured, surprised he could hear you despite how quiet your voice was, “and I haven’t told anyone. Not even my mother. I… I wasn’t planning on keeping it, but if there _has_ to be a trial, and if you _need_ proof that he forced himself on me, then… I’m sure we could get a DNA test done to prove who its father is.”

“I… And you’re sure it’s Steve’s?”

You nodded. “He’s the only man I’ve ever been with.”

The officer was quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking hard about what you’d said, and once more you were struck with how familiar he looked; it was driving you crazy, not knowing where you’d seen him before.

“You must be feeling a lot of confusing…conflicting emotions right now,” he eventually spoke. “And I’m sorry you’re under such duress. But I promise that I want to help you.”

You gave him a small smile, sitting up a little straighter.

“That means a lot, sir,” you spoke. “I know a lot of people aren’t going to take my side over Captain America’s.”

The man smirked and shrugged, standing up once more.

“Well, to me he’ll always be a punk from Brooklyn,” he said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, could you come with me?”

“With you? Where are we going?” you asked, standing beside him. Something about what he’d just said was rubbing you the wrong way; there was something…endearing in his tone of voice when he’d called Steve a punk.

“Down to the station, ma’am,” he answered. “We’ll need to take your statement and ask a few more questions.”

“Do we have to go now? My mom-“

“Ma’am, Steve seems very intent on finding you again. You would be safest going with me, rather than waiting here for him to find you.”

You nodded, although all of your instincts were screaming at you to run away from this man.

“A-alright,” you managed. “My boots are up in my room; is it ok if I go and grab them?”

“Of course. I’ll wait right here.”

You gave him a forced smile before walking over to the stairs, climbing them slowly so as not to alert him. When you got to your room, you locked the door behind you before grabbing the burner phone your mom had gotten you for emergencies. You dialed her number with shaky fingers, but, to your dismay, you only got her voicemail.

“Mom,” you whispered, “there’s a man who says he’s a cop here at the house. He started asking me… He asked me about _him_ , Mom. And he wants me to go to the police station with him. I-“

“Ma’am?” You jolted when you heard a knock at your door, and you backed away from it even as the officer called out to you. “Are you ok in there?”

Your doorknob jiggled, and that’s when you knew – there was something off about this, about him.

“Mom, I never told you, but the man who kidnapped me was Steve Rog-“

You screamed when your door was suddenly kicked in, and before you could do anything, the man was upon you, ripping your phone out of your hand and crushing it – just like Steve had done to your old phone.

“I’d really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, sweetheart,” he sighed. “I really do feel for you; Steve shouldn’t have done what he did to you. It wasn’t right.”

“Who are you?” you whimpered, kicking your legs as he picked you up and held your body against his. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doll, I really wish I could say I had noble intentions,” he grunted, struggling to carry you down the stairs with you thrashing around in his arms. “Wish I could say I was doing this for my friend, or in the name of whatever love he thinks he has for you.”

He ripped your front door clean off its hinges and started trudging through the snow with you still captive in his hold, and you screamed, begging the neighbors to come help you. When you got to the police car, though, you looked around and saw no one coming to your aid. With a rough shove, the man had you sprawled out in the backseat, leaning down to give you a smirk.

“But the real reason why I’m doing this is because Steve made a deal with me that was too good to refuse.”

With that, he closed the door, not even seeming bothered when you struggled to open it from the inside. No matter how hard you tried, though, it wouldn’t open, and when the man was settling into the driver’s seat he looked back at you through the plexiglass partition separating you.

“This is a police car, doll. You’re not getting out of it any time soon.”

You pressed yourself against the door as he started driving away, trying to wave at anyone who might see you being abducted. Even after you left Buffalo behind, you still tried to wave at any and all pedestrians, vehicles, or street cameras you could see. But no one helped you.

After an hour, you slumped against the leather upholstery, your head pounding from all the screaming. Your eyes wondered to your driver, your mind teasing you once more with his familiarity. You’d seen his face somewhere before. But where…

It was when his eyes made contact with yours in the rearview mirror that you realized. Years ago, you’d seen news reports of the bombing at the UN the day the Avengers were supposed to sign the Sokovia Accords. And after that, pictures of the ‘Winter Soldier’ had been plastered all over the place. He’d even been one of the ones to fight against Thanos before and after the snap.

And he’d been the man in Steve’s sketchbook.

Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” you breathed, watching in the mirror as a grin split his lips.

“There ya go,” he chuckled. “Was wondering when you’d realize it.”

“You’re doing this for Steve,” you sighed, feeling your newly-found freedom slip right through your fingers.

“Mostly, yeah,” he confirmed. “I mean, you hurt him pretty bad, doll. And not just with your little Swiss army knife. You broke the guy’s heart.”

“He _raped_ me! He _tortured_ me-“

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “I know. He’s not the same kid I grew up with. And back then, I would’ve been ashamed of him for what he’s done to you.

“But I can get it. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. We both got so much darker, doll. I’m not saying what he’s done to you is right. And I sure as shit ain’t saying what I’m gonna do to you is right. But it’s a small price to pay for the things we’ve had to see and do over the years.”

Your blood ran cold, and you once more pressed yourself against he door, putting as much distance as possible between the two of you.

“What… what _you’re_ going to do to me?” you repeated.

Bucky nodded, tapping against the steering wheel absentmindedly. You could see that he’d taken his gloves off, and now he had both hands, one flesh and one metal, exposed as he drove.

“That’s part of the deal Steve made with me. See, we shared a lot of things when we were younger. Toys, clothes, that sorta thing. So…when Steve told me that, in return for me chasing you down and bringing you to him, he would share you with me, the idea really appealed to me. The three of us’ll live together, just like a little family. Especially now that you’ve got a little one on the way-“

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, starting once more to pound at the window you’d been leaning against. “You’re both fucking crazy!”

All Bucky did was chuckle, nodding his head.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, sweetheart.”

_______

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep, because when you woke up, the car was stopped and Bucky was leaning over you in the backseat, trying to pick you up. You immediately were on high-alert, and you swiftly kicked him in the chin and crawled around him, throwing yourself out of the car.

You landed face-first in the snow, and your bare feet were already aching as you scrambled to stand up. Bucky huffed but made no move to put his hands on you again, and when you took a look around yourself, you soon realized why.

It was nighttime, but the thick snow gleamed in the moonlight, illuminating the thick forest all around you. You saw the tire tracks from Bucky’s stolen car wind down a long driveway, disappearing around a bend about a hundred yards away from you; you would never outrun him.

“Go ahead and start walking, dollface,” Bucky drawled, coming to stand beside you. “It’s about three miles from the first stop sign. Ten miles from any neighbors. Go ahead and see how far you’ll make it before your toes start freezing and breaking off.”

You whined, hugging yourself in the cold. Your tears left frozen tracks down your face, and when Bucky put his arm around you, you couldn’t even muster the strength to shake him off.

“Listen, hon,” he murmured. “Steve is gonna wanna punish you for running off on him. But if you get it over with and let him do what he wants to you, I promise I’ll be gentle. I’ll even be nice. But you’ll have to behave.”

You let out a sob, letting him pull you into his arms as you cried into his chest. He shushed you softly, his footsteps crunching in the snow as he carried you to a small cabin close by.

You were right back to where you’d started. The only difference was that, now, you had _two_ super soldiers holding you in captivity.

You held your breath as Bucky walked into the cottage with you, and you flinched when you heard a record player – ‘It’s Been A Long, Long Time’. It was the same song you’d danced to with Steve a month ago, and tonight, it had an even more sinister feel to it.

No words were spoken as he set you down on a sofa, and you kept your eyes resolutely on the ground. It didn’t really matter, though; you could sense Steve nearby. You could feel his eyes on you. You tried to keep your crying quiet, a skill you’d gotten good at over the last month.

You could hear Bucky whisper something to Steve, and then two pairs of footsteps walked away into the other room. You strained your ears, trying to make out what was being said. You thought you heard Steve’s voice say something like, “Are you sure?”

Eventually, you gave up, staring into the warm fireplace just to the right of the couch. The glow and heat radiating from it should’ve been comforting, but nothing could soothe the ache, the emptiness in your chest. _You’ll never be able to escape_ , you thought. _You should’ve given in when you had the chance_.

All too soon, you heard the footsteps approaching again, and soon you saw a pair of jean-clad legs come into view. A throat cleared above you, and reluctantly you looked upwards.

Steve was glaring back down at you, and you were surprised to see his face freshly-shaven. Somehow, it made him look colder; you were able to clearly see the way his jaw was clenched as he stared down at you. He knelt down in front of you, getting onto one knee while his eyes searched yours. He heaved a sigh, setting one of his hands on your thigh.

“Bucky tells me you’re pregnant,” he started, and you gulped when you finally heard the voice that had haunted your dreams addressing you directly.

You looked away, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

“I wouldn’t,” he growled, “do anything that could tempt me to do something rash right now, doll. I would love nothing more than to tear you apart for what you did to me, so I’d suggest answering my _fucking_ question.”

With a trembling bottom lip, you nodded, making yourself meet his gaze again.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Steve took in a deep, shuttering breath, bowing his head for a minute while his hand squeezed your thigh so hard that it was almost painful. You were stiff as a board as you waited for him to say something more.

“Typically,” he started, “I would be overjoyed at hearing that, baby. But I think you have an idea of just how much trouble you’re in. I _loved_ you, and you…”

He trailed off, looking back up at you with an almost pleading look.

“You almost killed me, doll,” he breathed. “But more than that, you broke my heart. You made me think you cared about me.”

Your teeth clenched together, and you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his as you spoke.

“You,” you murmured, “ _raped_ me. You _kidnapped_ me and _beat_ me and broke my _soul_. The only regret that I have is not sticking around to stab you in the heart.”

Despite the fury you could see rising up within him, you felt almost lighter. A part of you was satisfied with the glimmer of hurt you saw flash across his face, and despite how scared you were of him, you knew that he hadn’t totally broken you – nor would he ever.

After heaving a sigh, Steve stood up and grabbed you, roughly pulling you into his arms as he marched into the nearby bedroom.

“Is that how it’s gonna be?” he grunted, throwing you onto the bed. “Fine. You want to make me your villain? You wanna paint yourself as a victim with me as your big, bad ‘rapist’? Fine. Then I’ll fucking act like it.”  
You felt tears running down your cheeks as you tried to crawl away, but his hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to him harshly. His other hand slapped you across the face so hard that you saw stars for a second. You blinked, shaking your head as you felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

“Oh, don’t cry yet, babydoll,” he chuckled. “Oh, no. Not until I give you something to cry about.”

As you waited for your head to stop spinning, you were vaguely aware that Steve was taking his clothes off. You knew what was about to happen, but still you couldn’t summon the coordination to try and move away.

“I tried to be good to you, doll,” he was saying. “I was gonna treat you like a goddamn princess. You could’ve been spoiled rotten. But instead you decided to be an ungrateful little _bitch_.”

You whimpered when he dragged you over to the edge of the bed, and without any warning he plunged his cock into you. You screamed and clawed at the sheets beneath you; it was somehow even worse than the first time. Because it wasn’t just the pain, oh no. It was the knowledge that you were trapped again, and the chances of you pulling off another great escape were nonexistent.

Steve immediately started pounding into you, the bed squeaking and shaking in protest to his harsh movements. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You were just along for the ride as he used your body.

You weren’t really even wet, but that didn’t stop him. No, he wasn’t fucking you for your pleasure. Hell, he probably wasn’t even fucking you for his. His teeth were gritting together and his muscles were as taught as a bowstring as he focused on your body beneath him.

“I’m gonna fuck you every single fucking day, doll,” he grunted. “Gonna watch you get all round and swollen with my baby. You’re never gonna forget who you belong to again, you hear me?”

You could only whine in response, looking away from him. And that was when your eyes focused on the man standing across the room.

Bucky was watching you two with an unreadable expression, his arms crossed over his chest. You stared at him pleadingly, begging him with your eyes to help you, to stop Steve. But you were met with cold steel in response, and after a few moments you had to look away.

Steve was getting close; you knew all of the signs by heart. The veins in his neck were becoming more prominent; his voice was getting rougher; his thrusts were becoming harder and more irregular. You couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or relief inside of you when you realized you were nowhere near close to cumming, but whatever the feeling was, you pushed it down and tried to focus on anything but the man on top of you.

“Shit-!” With one last thrust, you felt him cum, his hot seed filling you up. You let out a sigh of relief, wanting nothing more than for this to be over with, but your hope were completely dashed when, after catching his breath for a few seconds, his hips bucked against yours once again.

“What?” Steve laughed after seeing the look on your face. “You didn’t think it was over, did you? Oh, no, baby girl. We’re nowhere near finished.”

You yelped when he flipped you over onto the belly, shoving your face down into the mattress so hard that you could barely breathe. His hand came down on your ass hard, and you tried your best to crawl away from him.

“Fucking lay still and take your goddamn punishment,” he growled, pinning you down with a hand between your shoulder blades as he spanked you once again.

He stopped after three more, though, and when you felt him pull away you knew better than to hope it was over. You weren’t surprised when you felt him kick your legs apart again, nor were you surprised when he crawled up onto his knees between them.

But when you felt your cheeks being spread apart, you realized with a cold dread what exactly he was about to do.

“N-no, please no,” you shrieked. “Steve, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I’ll never do anything bad again, I _swear_ -“

“God, I _missed_ hearing you beg,” was all he said before thrusting into your ass.

If it weren’t for his hand pushing your face into the mattress again, you were sure you would have made your own ears bleed with how loud your scream was. The sting was unbearable; every thrust felt like he was splitting you in half. You could feel the movements of his hips in your _goddamn_ teeth, and it took all of your focus just to breathe in and out.

“Jesus _Christ_ , baby,” he panted. “You’re so fucking _tight_ , so- fuck, so _warm_ -“

You clung to the sheets as he started thrusting in earnest, struggling to lift your head up with the grip he had on your hair. You gasped for breath, vaguely aware that you were babbling, stuttering half-formed words that all amounted to _please, stop_.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just been a good girl for me,” he growled, bending over to press his lips against your ear. “You think I like punishing you? You think I like hearing you beg me to stop instead of begging me to make you cum? Because I don’t. But I have to be sure you’re _sorry_.”

“I-I _am_ sorry,” you cried, trying to turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I swear, I swear I’m so so sorry, Steve-“

“Yeah?” he asked, hips still moving at a brutal pace. “You’re sorry, huh?”

“Yes!” you shrieked. You managed to turn and look over your shoulder at him for a second before he pushed your face back into the bed.

“Prove it, then. Beg me to cum. Tell me you want me. And you better make me believe it, slut. Because if I have any doubt whatsoever, I’m gonna keep fucking your ass until you pass out.”

You felt his hand let go of your hair, and you shakily leaned up on your elbows, forcing your hips to move with his despite the pain. You arched your back, looking over your shoulder again at Steve, gulping when he met your eyes.

“Please cum for me, Steve,” you begged. “Please, I’ve been so alone since I left. I’ve been so bad, I… I deserve to be punished and you deserve to use me.”

The words tasted like poison on your tongue, but they were working. Steve’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he kept slamming into you.

“Don’t stop, baby,” he growled, letting his head hang back.

“Please, baby, I want you to cum in my ass. I want to be good for you, now; I’m ready to be good for you, Steve.

“I… I love you.”

His eyes flew open at that, and you suddenly felt his hips give one last twitch before he came again. He let out a long, drawn-out moan, rocking into you slowly as he rode it out. You bit your lip and tried to lean away from him, desperate for him to pull out, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up onto your knees, your back against his chest.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Slowly, inch by inch, he pulled out of you, and you gave a relieved little whine.

When he let you go, you flopped onto your side; your legs felt numb, and you looked down to see blood smeared over your inner thighs. Steve gently rolled you onto your back, cupping your cheek and making you look at him.

“I’m not stupid enough to believe you meant that last bit,” he sighed, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “But I know that one day it’ll be true. You’ll see. I’m willing to give you a second chance, doll. You know why?”

He waited expectantly for an answer, and you stamped down that last spark of pride inside of you as you opened your mouth to speak.

“Because you love me?”

A smile stretched his lips, and the hand stroking your cheek turned rough, gripping your chin and pulling you into a searing kiss.

“Yes, doll baby,” he growled. “I love you so much. But it’s also because you’re _mine_. I own you, and if you ever try to leave me again, I’ll lock you up in the basement and leave you there to starve.”

He let go of your cheek and pulled away, and you heard him pick up his jeans behind you.

“She’s all yours, now, Buck,” he said. “I’m gonna go make some dinner; your plate will be in the microwave when you’re done.”

With that, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Up until then, you’d been laying there limply, but upon being left in the room with someone you didn’t even know, you forced yourself to sit up despite the pain in your ass the movement brought.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, sauntering over to the bed. “I’m surprised you’re still coherent after that. I didn’t know Steve had it in him.”

You were tense while he walked over to the bed, but you slowly started to relax when you saw him sit on its edge.

“C’mere,” he said, patting the space next to him. “I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but you eventually crawled over and sat next to him, leaving a safe amount of distance between the two of you.

“But… I thought that I was part of your deal with him,” you said.

“Oh, it is,” he nodded. “And I plan on fucking you tomorrow. But, uh… Well, no offense, doll, but your pussy isn’t all that appealing with blood and another man’s cum dripping out of it. Not to me, at least.”

Your cheeks burned with shame and you turned away. Bucky sighed and set his hand on your thigh, and when you scooted away from him, he made no move to pull you back.

“Listen, hon. I meant it when I said that I realize this is a fucked up situation. And I also meant it when I said that I wanted a family with you, Steve, and your bun in the oven. I think both of us know that you’re not getting out of this, right?

“I mean, you could run away. I’m not saying it’s impossible for you to escape from us, but what’ll you do after you get out? He’ll be able to find you wherever you go on this planet. And most people out there wouldn’t believe your story if you told them. And even if they did, this is Steve we’re talking about. No prison can hold him, and Stark will get him the best lawyers in the country. You’re not gonna win this fight.”

You whimpered, knuckles white as you gripped the edge of the bed. Deep down, you knew he was right. You knew that you were trapped. But he didn’t deserve your resignation. He didn’t deserve to break you. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I know it’s still hard,” Bucky sighed. “But if you’d let me, I would like to be able to at least be your friend. You don’t have to like me; you don’t have to trust me. But I’d like to at least be civil with one another. Ok?”

You made no reaction, and you heard the gears in his metal arm whir as his hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck, I’m crazy,” he muttered.

“You’re telling me,” you sighed. A laugh spilled from his lips and you saw him smile over at you from the corner of your vision.

“Listen, doll,” he started. “I’m gonna go eat. In the meantime, I want you to take a bath, ok? When you’re done, come in here and lay down. I’ll be here waiting.”

With that, he got up and left you, and you waited until the door clicked shut behind him before hobbling to your feet and waddling into the en suite bathroom. The bath you ran for yourself was lukewarm, and there wasn’t enough water in the tub to properly cover your body when you sat down in it, but you didn’t care. With the first rag you’d found in the linen closet, you scrubbed at your body, watching the white cloth turn red after cleaning the cum from your used holes.

You didn’t linger once you were done. Standing up from the now-pink bathwater, you dried off with a towel and drained the bath. You didn’t glance in the mirror, and you didn’t pause to take a breath. With your head bowed, you walked into the bedroom to find Bucky sitting on the bed wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me,” you stated, startled to hear how lifeless your voice was.

“And I’m not,” he answered. “But…I’m not going to pretend that watching the two of you earlier didn’t make me horny. If you do as I say, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You felt no fear, no stirring in your chest as you made your way over to him, standing next to the bed. Bucky sat up as you approached, swinging his legs over the bed and spreading them wide. Your eyes darted down, seeing that he was already half-hard.

“Go ahead and get on your knees for me, sweetheart,” he commanded. You did as he said without having to be told twice. “Now take off my underwear.”

You stared ahead as his stomach as you complied, rolling his boxers down his legs and tossing them to the side.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, tilting your chin up. Your eyes were still looking forward, unseeing.

“No.”

Bucky hummed and dropped your chin, reaching down to hold the base of his cock.

“Well, ya gotta start somewhere, I suppose. Start off by-“

You batted his hand away, replacing it with your own and squeezing his shaft. You hardly even registered the stilted gasp he made when you started to stroke it, pausing only to lick your palm.

“Jesus, hon, you’re-“

He was cut off when you leaned forward, licking a stripe up the slit on his head, ever looking forward, the numbness in your legs seeming to spread into your chest. You felt…empty, totally empty, as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, going off of instinct to get the deed over and done with.

“Sh-shit, ok,” the man above you groaned. He was now fully hard, and his hands moved into your hair as you started bobbing up and down, taking more and more of his cock with each downward stroke. “Fuck, doll, I wasn’t exactly expecting this.”

You didn’t make a sound as you struggled to swallow around his cock; he wasn’t quite as long as Steve, only shorter by maybe an inch or two, but he was just as thick. Your jaw was already sore, but you pressed on, thinking back to all of the smutty romance novels you’d secretly indulged in and trying to copy what you’d read about the characters in them doing.

You breathed through your nose and bobbed up and down, gripping his shaft and stroking whatever you couldn’t fit. When Bucky’s hips stuttered upwards you gagged a bit, pulling back to take a calming breath before getting right back to it.

“Ohhhh, fuck,” he breathed, letting himself fall back onto the bed as he guided you to move faster. “That’s so good; fuck, how are you so _good_ -“

You didn’t let up, letting him guide your pace until, with a groan so deep that you swore you could feel it in your chest, he was cumming down your throat. You gasped in surprise, gagging at the sudden intrusion, but only a little bit dribbled down your chin before you reflexively swallowed.

“God, baby…” Buck sat up on his elbows, watching as you sat back on your heels and wiped your chin. “What the fuck came over you?”

You only glared at him, getting up onto your feet on wobbly knees. His smirk only grew, though.

“There it is,” he grinned. “The anger. I knew it was coming at some point. For what it’s worth, I’d be angry too. But I think I know what’ll help. Come over here.”

He patted his stomach, and you hesitantly walked over, climbing up onto the mattress beside him. You let out an undignified squeak, though, when his hands pressed against the back of your thighs, manhandling you until you were straddling his neck.

“What are you doing?” you asked, fighting to keep your balance.

“I know that you must be tired of being used tonight, doll,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your inner thigh. “So why don’t you use me for a change, huh?”

He grinned and licked his lips, and you froze when you realized what he wanted you to do. The real surprise came, though, when your pussy clenched at his words.

“I… I don’t-“ you tried to say, but he leaned up, swiping his tongue against your slit before letting it fall back again.

“C’mon, it’ll feel good,” he cajoled. “I learned this in Paris from a lady who had no doubts about what she wanted in life. And she sure seemed to like it when we did this.”

You bit your lip and looked away from him, fighting back the shame blooming in your chest as you hesitantly lowered yourself closer to his face.

As soon as you were close enough, Bucky wasted no time in delving in, pushing his tongue past your folds and lapping softly at your clit, running the flat part of his tongue up and down slowly. You gasped, closing your eyes as you felt your body responding despite its soreness; you could already tell how good he was at this.

He let out an obscene moan as he trailed further down, sliding his tongue past your entrance and running it along your walls. You hated to admit it, but its cool wetness soothed the ache left behind by Steve, and a moan worked its way out of your mouth before you could bite it down.

“C’mon, baby,” he encouraged you. “I wanna hear how I’m doing; let me know what feels good.”

Your hands sought out his hair of their own accord as he started tongue fucking you, your hips rocking in time with him. Every now and then, he would pull back to lap at your clit, spreading your wetness over the tight little bud until you felt your legs trembling.

“Bucky-!” you gasped, falling forward to support yourself with your hands. You’d never felt like this before; a part of you was extremely satisfied that he was better at this than Steve. That part of you wanted to moan and scream and gloat in Steve’s face that Bucky was bringing you more pleasure with his tongue than Steve ever had.

You felt your orgasm coming over you fast, and all you could do was buck your hips and grip Bucky’s hair. Somewhere close, though, you registered the sound of a door opening, and you turned your head to see Steve leaning in the doorway, watching you with narrowed eyes as you rode Bucky’s face.

You gasped, trying to pull away, but Bucky’s hands gripped your hips hard, pulling you back down and shoving his tongue inside you. The moan you let out was borderline pornographic as you felt your pleasure build up inside you, pushing you through your climax so hard that your ears started ringing. Your hips spasmed, but Bucky held them steady, slowly lapping at your pussy while letting out a content hum.

Once your body stilled, you rolled over onto your back, trying to slow your breathing as you watched Steve turn away from you and look at Bucky.

“You learn that in Paris?” he asked.

“Yep.” Bucky smirked and licked his lips, his stubble glistening with your juices. “I’ll coach you sometime, Stevie. She sure seemed to like it.”

For the first time that evening, Steve’s smile didn’t hold any malicious intent, and he looked up at you before turning back to his friend.

“Don’t tell me how to fuck my girl, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled himself to his feet, bending over to grab his boxers.

“I think she’s _our_ girl now.”

You closed your eyes, exhaustion starting to take you over. When a hand came to rest on your cheek, you knew it was Steve, but you were too tired to pull away when he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“You hear that, doll? You’re our girl now. We’re gonna make such a beautiful family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I'm debating whether I should write more Steve and/or Bucky fics; this is my first one with them! If you think I should, let me know if you have any suggestions!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you guys think! This is my first time writing Steve Rogers, much less a dark version of him. Feedback is always appreciated!


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